IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0     JS"^  I 


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118 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiquas 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibiiographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


D 
D 
D 
D 
D 
D 
D 
D 

n 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommag^e 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur^e  et/ou  pellicul6e 

Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bisue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Reli6  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  bfnding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

Le  reliu^e  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intirieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutAes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  loraque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  film6es. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires: 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meeileur  e.xemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  6t4  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  methods  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquis  ci-dessous. 


□   Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

n    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endomma^des 

n    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pelliculies 


^J^    Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachet^es  ou  piqudes 


□    Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d6tach6es 


\7 


"71    Showthrough/ 


Transparence 


n    Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Quality  indgaie  de  I'impression 

□    Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Com 


omprend  du  materiel  suppl^mentpire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


a 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  filmdes  A  nojveau  de  fa9on  A 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  t!ie  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film6  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu6  ci-dessous. 


10X 

I4X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

1 

>/ 

12X 

16X 

20X 

24X 

28X 

32X 

The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Dana  Porter  Arts  Library 
Univei  <ity  of  Waterloo 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Origin?!  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — »-  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


L'exemplaire  filmd  fut  reproduit  grfice  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Dana  Porter  Arts  Library 
University  of  Waterloo 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin.  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
fiimage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  film6s  en  commen^ant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commen9ant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  tbrminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaltra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  ^»>  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN  ". 


IVIaps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  pauvent  dtre 
film6s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichd,  il  est  fiimd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombrs 
d'images  n6cf>ssaire.  !.es  diagrammes  suivant? 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

wmmmm 
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A    KENTUCKY   CARr3INAL 


AFTERMATH 


mammmmmmmmmmmtm 


mm 


i  I 


.' 


^^^^^ 


>  J    ^  "*    o 


:M 


■■ 


A  Kentucky  Cardinal 


AND 


Aftermath 


By 

JAMES    LANE    ALLEN 

Author  of  "  The  Reign  of  Law,"    "  The  Choir  Jnvi.ible 
"  The  Blue  Grass  Region  of  Kentucky,"  etc. 


iL'ith  a  Neiv  Preface 


■'  7<  'i  U"^^  h-  H^gb   Thomson 


'.mm. 

THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON:    MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
1900 

A/i  y-a^hts  reser7'ed 


■:■'  'I  J 


-'/O, 


^1  Keutiitky  Ciirdinal. 
Col'VK OUT,  l8.)4,  1S99, 

liv  Hani'Kk  i^  1!k"Thi;hs. 


A/to- math. 

Coi'VKif.in,  i8w5,  1S99, 
By  Hakikk  &  I'.KuiniiKS. 


CorvKunn,  1900, 

By  the  macmillan  company. 


Xorh30ol!  IDrtss 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


% 


Drtiiratiou 


This  to  hiT  from  one  who  in  childhood  used  to  stand 
at  the  windows  of  her  room  and  walch  for  the  Cardinal 
amon^'  the  snuw-huricd  cedars. 


JfHU 


-^h 


A   KENTUCKY   CARDINAL 


AFTERMATH 


PACE 
I 


V 


^P; 


rHinn 


xJu^     of  SliLi^raRoinih 


Apprehensioiis  of  Falling  Weather 

Cuckoo  and  Mocking-hircl 

We  twittered  kindly  at  each  other 

Many  an  ]:x(|uisite  Strain 

Touches  her  Cuitar  with  Maidenly  Solicitude 

A  Distant  Shar[)shooter    . 

A  False  Impression  of  Mrs.  Cobh 

rK)t  down  my  Map  of  Kentucky 

Certain  Ladies  who  how  sweetlv  \o  me 

The  Xew  .Neighbours  have  come 

''Old  man.  are  you  the  gardener  ? " 

I  dressed  up      . 

Over  to  my  Woodland  Pasture 

vii 


I'Al.E 

4 
6 

8 

'3 
17 
25 

27 
32 

37 
43 

44 
46 


Little  Town  Boys  into  my  Strawberry  Bed 

Toploflical  Strutting 

I  see  People  on  account  of  my  Grapes  and  Pears 

Welcomed  her  gayly 

Knocked  reproachfully 

Putting  a  Prop  under  a  Too-heavily  Laden  Limb 

Thrust  Mrs.  Cobb  out  of  the  House 

When  she  fed  her  Hens 

That  Whipping 

Looking  down  at  the  Gate  that  I  made  Yesterday 

Georgiana  and  her  Mother  coming  out 

"  But  wouldn't  I  like  to  have  him  !" 

"What  have  you  done  ?"  she  cried 

A  Little  Saul  of  Tarsus     . 

'•And  — is  — that  — all  ?" 

Set  our  Candle",  in  our  Windows 

Sylvia  and  the  Gosling     . 

Dropped  him  out  into  the  Street 

I  tapped  it        o         .         •         ■ 

'•  Sylvia,  my  dear  child,  how  old  a;e  you 

Sylvia  performing     . 

He  was  silting  on  the  Front  Porch 

Then  we  set  off  at  a  Brisk  Pace 

The  Three  Generals 

"  I  have  been  married,  sir  !  " 

viii 


?^' 


5° 
67 

74 
80 

«5 
^7 
89 

93 

103 

i'3 
121 

129 


132 


138 

143 
144 

'59 
161 

163 
166 

17S 
185 
187 
iSg 
191 


The  Carpenter  and  the  Sewing-Girl 
She  could  see  out  of  only  One  Eye 
Rosettes  of  Yellow  Ribbon 
She  sprang  across  to  me  . 
Then  her  Eyes  caught  Sight     . 
"What  is  it,  Mrs.  Walters  ?"  . 
The  Sagacious  Old  Soul   . 
Specimens  of  my  Notes  and  Drawings 
I  beheld  Georgiana  as  an  Old,  Old  Lady 
Dropped  into  a  Cough 


PAGE 

'93 
197 
199 
201 
204 
206 
208 
213 

241 


IX 


I? 


JntvoDuction 


^^^HE  first  thine:  in  life  that  I  can 
:^v??l    remember  is  the  fact  of  beino; 
^M^^l    caught  up  into  somebody's  arms 
i^^!ci.    and  of  owning  a  blue  tumbler. 
Possibly  when  that  gigantic  person  —  who- 
ever it  was  —  seized  me  by  my  two  handles, 
1  seized  my  tumbler  by  its  one  handle  ;  and 
thus  the  glass  and  the  caress  stayed  bound 
together  in  my  memory  as  parts  of  the  same 
commotion.      But  I   can  never  evoke  these 
ill-assorted  beginnings  of  all  conscious  recol- 
lection without  being  also  obliged   to  think 
of  a  pump  on  a  slippery  hill  with   a  brick 
pavement   around    it :    and   a    pump    and    a 
tumbler   and    beine    suddenly   snatched    off 
the   earth    suggest  some   true   story   of  the 
times.      But,    then    again,    it    is    impossible 

xi 


to  recall  the  image  of  this  pump  without 
instantly  dragging  into  view  the  head  and 
shoulders  of  a  smiling  school-teacher,  who 
held  me  in  his  arms  and  who  had  the  power 
to  give  away  sweet  morsels  —  on  that  occa- 
sion ;  and  why  he  should  appear  so  early  in 
the  procession  of  small  knowledge  —  indeed, 
at  the  azoic  head  of  it  —  may  be  a  secret  not 
worth  discovering,  but  it  is  at  least  quite 
certain  that  no  one  will  ever  discover  it. 

Most  likely,  these  several  things,  which 
are  now  beheld  as  compressed  into  a  single 
scene  and  instant,  existed  far  apart  through 
time  and  place.  A  year  arrived  when  caresses 
began  to  be  conscious  experience  ;  in  another 
I  entered  upon  the  ownership  of  a  cerulean 
mug;  during  a  third  my  explorations  of  the 
physical  world  extended  to  the  pump  in  the 
yard  —  for  one  stood  there;  on  some  day 
of  a  fourth  I  may  have  been  led  across  the 
woods  to  the  school-house  on  the  mud  road 
—  perhaps  some  Friday  afternoon,  when  it 
was  customary  to  have  spelling  matches,  or 
dialogues  and  speeches,   and  when   parents 

xii 


i 


'i 


came  and  refreshments  —  the  arrival  of  the 
refreshments  being  much  more  important 
than  that  of  the  parents.  Be  the  truth  as  it 
may,  the  matters  set  down  above  are  all  that 
I  can  remember  on  my  own  account  about 
my  birthplace  and  my  earliest  years.  They 
are  filaments  of  the  obscurest  algic,  gathered 
around  the  coasts  of  that  dim,  deep  sea  which 
is  a  child's  mind  and  now  resembling  nothing 
so  much  as  a  barely  traceable  bunch  of  out- 
lines pressed  on  one  small  card. 

After  this:  everything  vanishes  —  tumbler 
and  teacher,  pump  and  pudding.  There  is 
an  upheaval,  or  a  downfall ;  and  when  Mem- 
ory begins  again  the  weaving  of  that  long 
seamless  living  tapestry  wherefrom  she  has 
never  rested  and  whereon  she  is  busy  yet,  I 
was  about  two  miles  away.  Mv  father  had 
moved  with  his  family  to  a  farm  that  had 
been  left  to  him  by  his  father  and  entailed 
for  the  benefit  of  us,  his  children  ;  and  there 
I  continued  to  live  until  I  was  twenty-two 
years  of  age,  without  ever  having  been  out- 
side the  state  of  Kentucky  or  having  seen 


xui 


more  than  once  or  twice  any  but  the  nearest 
village. 

The  farm  to  which  the  scene  now  shifts 
was  small.  I  was  the  last  of  sev^en  children; 
and  during  the  forerunning  years  of  his 
married  life  my  father,  who  was  of  a  most 
generous,  unselfish,  a.id  trustful  nature,  had 
met  with  reverses  ;  both  his  and  my  mother's 
independent  fortunes  were  gone.  This  piece 
of  property  represented  a  fragment  of  his 
flither's  estate,  just  as  his  father's  estate 
represented  but  a  fragment  of  the  wilderness 
lands  of  a  pioneer  settler.  On  it  stood  a 
brick  house  of  the  Virginia  pattern  —  a  very 
good  one  for  the  time  at  which  it  had  been 
built.  In  its  original  shape  it  consisted  of 
that  part  which  was  two  stories  high ;  but 
later  (I  do  not  know  when  or  by  whom) 
there  had  been  added  at  the  southern  end  an 
ell  containing,  besides  a  pantry  and  a  kitchen, 
one  chamber,  the  largest  room  in  the  house. 

This  was  occupied  by  my  father  and 
mother.  Thus,  in  accordance  with  the  com- 
mon custom  of  the  country  in  those  days,  it 

xiv 


M 


became  the  general  living-room  of  tiie  family. 
its  two  good-sized  windows  opened  upon 
the  front  yard.  One  of  these  was  kept 
closed,  because  the  bed  sat  against  it;  the 
other  was  regularly  closed  at  nightfall,  and 
regularly  opened  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

in  this    room,  then,  and   at  this  window 
begins  the  history  of  my  outdoor  life.    There 
my   impressions  of  the  physical   world  took 
earliest  shape  and  meaning;  whatsoever  un- 
important habits  of  observation  I  may  possess 
were   there  formed,  directed,  and  rewarded  ; 
and  if  I  have  ever  written  anything  concern- 
ing Nature  which  shows  the  slightest  knowl- 
edge or  feeling  —  if  in  far  later  years  I  have 
ever   lingered   over  a  page,  vainly  trying  to 
put  uj>on  it  the  reality  of  external   things  as 
they  seem  to  us,  and  the  reality  of  the  emo- 
tions they  arouse  in  us  —  the  origin  of  it  all 
goes  back  to  that  time  and  place. 

Of  the  other  portions  of  the  house,  any 
account  would  enter  but  unprofitably  into 
the  purpose  of  these  recollections.      True,  J 

XV 


earlv  acquired  excellent  information  regard- 
ing'the  pantrv  next   door.      It  was   full   ot 
things    that   once    had  been  in   Nature,  but 
were    soon    to    be    in    Man.      And    in    Me. 
Substances   piled    up,  simply   waiting   to  be 
taken  in  :   why  keep  them  waiting?      It  was 
one  of  the  places  in  which  a  boy  sometimes 
lengthens  his  life  and  sometimes  shortens  it, 
but  where  meantime  he  invariably  broadens 
his  information  and  his  body.      The  truth,  in 
any  case,  would  be  of  no  value  except  as  a 
warning,  and  there  is  never  anybody  to  take 
the  warning.     Of  the  kitchen  also,  adjoining 
^h,  pantrv -those   twin   hostelries  of  little 
pattering  feet-I  have  recollections  :hat  go 
fairly  back  to  Chaos  ;  but  neither  have  these 
anything  to  do  with  that  one  especial  end  in 
view,  which  further  on  perhaps  may  kindly 
justify  these  frank  and  unexpected  personali- 
iiPs.     As  for  the  other  rooms  — the  dining- 
room,  the  parlour,  the  bedrooms  upstairs,  and 
the  enormous  garret  above  these -each  in 
time   grew  discoverable  and  definite  to  my 
spreading   intelligence   until  at  last  1  could 


XVI 


grasp  the  entire  house  as  a  mental  whole, 
consisting  of  many  orderly  and  separately 
interesting  parts.  But  their  several  diverse 
histories  began  later;  and  none  r)pened  for 
me  an  eye  through  which  to  look  out  upon 
the  physical  world. 

So  that  there  was  but  one:   the  window  in 
my   fithcr's  and  m-ther's  room,  that  single 
observatory  for  a  delicate  child  kept  niiK^h 
mdoors  and  having  no  playmates.     At  this 
instant,  as  I  test  the  matter  in  consciousness, 
I   possess   not   a  single   recollection    of  this 
window   in  summer  or  of  anything   I    e\-er 
saw  from  it  during  that  season  :  which  means 
no  doubt  that  then  I  was  ne\-er  there.      But 
from  the  first  chill  days  of  autumn  when  the 
white  window-sash  was   lowered,  and  doors 
were  shut,   and  a   fire   was    kindled   on    the 
hearth— from    that   time   until   late   spring, 
when   the   sash   was    thrown    up    ajrain    and 
doors  were  set  open  and   the  fireplace   was 
whitewashed  for  the  summer,  with  a  bag  of 
straw  rammed  up  the  chimney  to  keep  back 
soot  and  swallows  —  the  memories  of  what  I 

wii 


I 


locked  out  ur'>"  tli'-"^'^'^  ''^^^'^''''^'""■"'■' '° 
thick  tlv.it  in  ail  tl>u  years  since  1  liave  never 
exhaustea  t!ie,n,  and  1  have  hut  to  develop 
some  unused  film  of  memory  to  hnd  fresh 
ones  at  anv  moment. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  first  thing  m  the 
morning    the    shutters    were    thrown    open 
How  often,  as  soon  as  this  was  done,  would 
mv  mother  call  to  nre  and  direct  my  atten- 
ti.m  to  something  of  interest.      Perhaps  to 
the  window-panes   themselves,  silvered  and 
sparkling  with  frost.     What  a  wonder  and  a 
n'vsterv  to  a  child's  eyes!    Those  landscapes 
which  had  settled  in  a  night  across  h,s  crysta 
path  of  vision  and  now  shut  out  all  others  . 
Until   thev    were    melted  away   by   h.s   hot 
breath,  or  scratched   through  with  a   small 
curious    finger-nail.      Sometimes   it    was    as 
thoucrh  the  distant  woods  with  all  its  boughs 
a,ul  avenues   bad  thrown  its  image  towards 
the    house -not   across    the    sunbght,    but 
under    cover    of    the    darkness  -  and    tb,s 
i,,age  had  been  intercepted  at  the  wmdow 

and" fastened  there  in  ice. 

.wiii 


( 


Al)()ut  rhii-ry  yards  away  sUhx\  a  row  of 
large  ccdar-rrccs,  the  well-nigh  uni\ersal  ever- 
green in  Kentucky  front  yards  at  that  period, 
for  nurseries  were  scarce,  and   a  fir,  a  larch,  J 
juniper,  or  the   like  was   difficult  or   impos- 
sible to  get.      Mow  often  she  called   to  nie, 
on  going  to  the  wind.nv  herself,  to  look  (,ut 
at    these   cedars!      At   the   first   snow,    piied 
lightly   on   the  houghs;  at  a   male  cardinal, 
sitting  on  a  pinnacle  of  white  and  green  ;  at 
some  great  sleet,  bending  them  to  the  earth, 
rigid  and  shapeless.      Jt  was  she  who  intro- 
duced me  to  the  subject  of  birds. 

'I'hus,  shut  up  in  a  rather  lonelv  farm- 
bouse  with  my  back  to  the  fire,  I  learned  to 
send  my  eyes  abroad  and  to  live  out  of  doors 
with  sun  and  cloud,  storm  and  calm,  through- 
out three  quarters  of  the  vear. 

These  window  observations  went  on  dur- 
ing many  returning  seasons.  Long  before 
they  had  ceased,  they  were  overlapped  by 
other  lines  of  experience  begun  outside  the 
house.  Fn-st  in  the  yard  itself;  and  has  the 
mature  mind  ever  been  able  to  describe  how 

xix 


vast  a   world   a   large   country   yard   is   to  a 
child  ?       A   suninicr   day    there   was    longer 
than   is  the  man's  brief  life  ;  one  corner  ot 
it  more  distant  from  another  than  continent 
from  continent  to  his  measuring  eyes.      In 
the  yard   I  could  draw  near  to  many  things 
which  I  had  hccn  obliged  to  observe  from  a 
distance.      I  could  follow  them  up,  lay  hold 
on  them,  play  the  mischief.      For  one  thing  : 
I  could  run,  at  winter  twilights,  out  to  the 
cedar-trees  and  seizing  a  low  bough,  shake  it 
and   scatter   the  birds  settled   down  for  the 
night;  thus  driving  them  from  tree  to  tree, 
backward  and   forward,   their  cries   growing 
always  more  distressing   in  the   darkness  :  a 
wonderfully  interesting  piece  of  business  to 
me  for  some  unknown  devilish  reason.     And 
then  there  was  the  first  trap,  and  the  first  wild, 
fluttering  captive  after  breakfast  some  morn- 
ing.    And  when  the  blue  grass  with  orchard 
grass  mixed  in  it  was  at  its  highest,  not  yet 
having  been  mowed,  and  the  cold  showers  of 
early  June  left  the  tops  dripping  and  bowed 
down,    out  of  the    depths   here    and    there 

XX 


i 


issued  all  Jay  the  cries  of  rhc  voung,  fallen 
h-nm  the  ncsr  or  unahlc  to  rise  on  callow 
umg  our  of  that  cliill  forest  of  stems.  A 
Hne  chance  for  adventures  and  a  place  uhere 
.'I  l)()y  can  learn  to  hate  cats  — and  never 
attervvards  get  over   his  aversion. 

I'assing  Oil,  I  must  yet  pause  to  sav  that 
on  a   Kentucky  firm   in   those  davs  a'child 
was  su:  rounded    by  a  prodigal   hi'rd   life  of 
which  fuit  traces  remain.      My  earliest  recol- 
lections of  chiybreak  are  now  condensed  into 
one  surviving  impression  :    that  of  hearin<r 
'^"  ^-'^^''Hl  my  fither's  house,  beating  close  to 
the  walls  and  surging  faintly  and  more  fiiintly 
away  m   every  direction,  such  a  sea  of  song 
as  I  think  can   no  longer  visit  human  ears^ 
Ot  mornings  I  was  often  called  out  of  the 
house  to  look  at  the  sky,  across  which  wild 
geese  were  flying  (I   can  still    hear  the  crv 
ot  the  leaders  up  there-that  highest  mel- 
ody of  earth).      Or  far  outnumbering  these, 
wild  ducks;  or  outnumbering  the  wild  ducks' 
a   myriad    to  one,   the   wild    pigeons- now 
entirely    gone.        Sometimes    the  flocks    of 

xxi 


^^^ 


these  dappled   for   hours  the   \n^^■  graV  sky 
over    one    entire    quarter    of    the    heavens: 
passing,  passing,  passing.      At  other  times  — 
a  strangely  beautiful  sight— flying  high  on  a 
clear  frosty   morning  and  spread  far  out  in 
a  thin  straight  line,  they  passed  under   the 
zenith  like  a  moving  arch.     A  procession  of 
arches!    one  after  another,  all  borne  in  the 
same    direction  — a    single    instinct    in    ten 
thousand   breasts.      I'hey  were   visiting  still 
the    vast    oak    forests    of    Kentucky.      The 
whole  land  lay  across  the  ancient  paths  of 
nigration.       Strange  species   now  and   then 
crossed  also.    1  ean  remember  that  my  father, 
who  was  a  capital  shot,  standing  one  day  in 
his  stable   lot,  winged  an  immense   sea  fowl 
that  fluttered  far  down  on  a  neighbour's  estate. 
He  went  for  it  and  brought  it  home;  but  not 
he  nor  any  one  else  knew  the  name  of  it. 

Outside  the  vard,  on  every  side  there  lay 
for  me  as  a  c'hild  the  wonderful  universe 
of  the  flirm.  I  early  began  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  this  by  sitting  on  the  pom- 
mel before  my  father  as  he  rode  over  it  on 

xxii 


his  gaitt'd  saddle   horse.      Later  I  began   to 
ride    behind    him,    thank,     heavens  !     where 
there  was  no  upward  hori  -Hke  projection  to 
be    perched   on,  [)ut   where  1  could  straddle 
a  real  soft,  tat,  living  back.      Idiere  was  such 
a  diH-erence  between  riding  on  a  pommel  and 
ritling  olf  of  it.      My  father  knew  the  names 
ot  all    trees  of  the   land   and  their  varieties; 
and  ot  weed  and  grass  and  shrub,      lie   had 
his  wonderful  practical  knowledge  direct  from 
his  father,  as   his   father  had  drawn  his  from 
the  foregoing  pioneer  settler  ;    and  thus   in 
the  person  of  niy  father   1   touched  in  some 
small   way  that  marvellous  utilitarian  wood- 
craft possessed   by  the  western  frontiersman, 
^riinnigh  my  father  also  came  the  earliest 
knowledge  of  the  fields.      1  possess  no  men- 
tal picture  of  him  older  than  that  of  the  sow- 
ing of  hempseed.    He  sat  on  his  saddle  horse, 
whose  ears  he  had  tied  over  with  his  hand- 
kerchief to  keep  the  seed  from  falling  into 
them        Backward    and    forward,    backward 
and  forward,  across  the  soft  brown  earth  he 
rode,  sowing  the  hemp.       And  through  him 

xxiii 


u 


I',       I 


there  was  brought  into  my  Hfd  perhaps  the 
most  wholesome  idea  and  lesson  that  has  ever 
entered  it,  —  that  of  getting  down  to  hard 
work  ;  and  that  whatsoever  work  my  hand 
undertook,  to  rest  not  until  it  was  done  and 
done  with  thoroughness.  Both  he  and  my 
mother  were  of  inexorable  thoroughness  and 
particularity  in  all  their  lives.  I  have  never 
followed  their  example  but  with  outward 
profit  and  inward  peace,  nor  neglected  it 
without  loss  of  both  of  these. 

What  I  have  now  come  to  and  am  trying  to 
sav  is  that  evervthing  I  was  set  to  do,  from  the 
betzinninc  to  the  end  of  all  mv  small  labours  on 
the  farm,  brought  indispensable  knowledge; 
kept  me  close  to  the  earth  ;  caused  me  to 
know  more  of  the  infinite  life  of  out-of-doors. 

I  dropped  corn,  covered  it,  thinned  it  (an 
abominable  business,  I  thought,  working  a 
boy's  body  as  though  he  were  a  pair  of  sugar 
tongs).  Sometimes  I  shucked  it  in  autumn, 
threw  the  fodder  over  to  the  stock  in  winter, 
took  the  corn  to  the  mill  in  the  spring  — 
and  took  my  share  of  the  bread  at  all  seasons. 

xxiv 


I 


I  folloued  the  cradles,  and  shocked  oats  and 
wheat,  and  helped  haul  the  oats  to  the  barn, 
and  the  wheat  to  the  stack.     And  who  can 
do  these  things  without  learning  a  little  about 
the  natural  history  of  fields  ?     I  cut  weeds  in 
the  woodland  pasture   (what    Kentucky  boy 
of  those   times   but   looked   bitterly    fonvard 
from  year  to  year  to  the  weed-cutting  season, 
and  connected  weeds  with  the  original  curse 
of  the  earth  — regularly  adding  an   original 
one  unknown  to  Moses).     I  cut  weeds  along 
fences   and   in   stable  lots  :   on   the  whole  1 
think  I  knew  weeds  pretty  well.      For  several 
springs  I  helped  to  cut  the  willows  for  tying 
the   vines  in   my  father's   lar^re  vineyard'.      I 
charred  the  ends  of  the  stakes  over  which 
these   vines  were    to  grow,  hoed   the   vines, 
thinned  out  superfluous  leaves,  gathered  the' 
grapes  for  the  press,  racked  the  wine  in  the 
cellar  — and  sometimes  the  wine  racked  me. 
1  prepared  the  ground  for  the  sowing  of  veg- 
etable seeds  and  cultivated  the  plants  after 
they  came  up  :  surely  I  was  made  to  master 
the  business  of  gardening.     Sometimes  when 

xxv 


\ 


] 


mm 


a  tree  was  felled  in  the  woods,  I  collected 
the  brush  into  a  pile  and  afterwards  burnt 
the  brush  and  luv  breeches.  1  cut  wood 
tor  the  house  at  the  wood-pile.  At  the 
stable  I  W'^^  the  stock:  what  is  there  did 
I    not    learn    about    a    barn     and    its    kind 

fiithful    souls  ? 

On  the  whole,  thout^h  I  was  never  a  hard- 
worked,  hard-pressed  boy,  there  dwelt  in  the 
minds  of  parents  of  those  days  the  stalwart, 
sturdv    idea    that   when    business    stops    the 
devil  becrins;  and  my  parents  evidently  did 
not  wish  him  to  begin.      It  appeared  to  me 
that  when  they  did  not  keep  me  busy,  they 
kept  me  moving  :   they  sent  me  on  errands 
to  the  neighbours  — presumably  an  amuse- 
ment for  the  young.      In  this  way,  as  1  now 
know,  I   beiran  to  extend  mv  knowledge  of 
woods  and^iields  and  parhways  beyond  the 
tarm.      Inu-thermore,  one  of  my  regular  occu- 
pations   (another   amusement)    was   to    hunt 
the  turkevs.      But  long  before  I  started  out 
with    the'  idea    of  landing   the   turkeys,   the 
turkeys  had  started  out  with  the  idea  of  not 

wvi 


being  found  hy  anybody.  Apparcnrlv  they 
refused  grasshoppers  until  they  had  reached 
a  place  where  they  had  no  right  to  ear  rheni. 
What  wanderings  and  searchings  thev  oris^n- 
nated  I  And  no  sooner  did  they  jierceive 
that  they  were  discovered  than  they  bej^ran 
to  run  cheerfully  home  —  zealouslv  pushinfr 
each  other  out  of  the  way  —  as  though  they 
had  never  intended  to  leave  it  and  were  oidy 
too  glad  to  return.  Hut  they  did  this  everv 
day,  and  I  was  not  inclined  to  believe  theni. 
It  IS  more  to  the  purpose  to  record  how 
during  these  hours  of  roaming  over  the 
summer  and  autumn  land,  I  received  uncon- 
scious lessons  regardirg  it  through  e\ery 
busv  sense. 

And  then  there  were  the  child's  pleasures 
of  wood  and  stream  and  field,  during  which 
more  knowledge  was  gotten  through  sheer 
joy  alone  —  the  best  way:  for  as  vou  can- 
not buy  joy,  neither  can  you  buv  the  truth 
that  always  attends  it.  Wring  out  of 
the  heart  of  a  man  the  last  essence  of  his 
knowledge  of  a  country,  and   it  will   be  the 

xxvii 


'  1 


i\ 


'I 


I' 


scenes  of  boyhood  pleasures.      Call   on   him 
for  his  best  remembrance  of  an  orchard  ;  and 
it  will  be  something  like  this  :  an  afternoon 
in    late    autumn   when   he   had   climbed   the 
fence  of  one,  during  a  long  hunt,  his  tongue 
parched  and   his  stomach  empty.       But  not 
an  apple  was  to  be  found  :  it  was  too  late  : 
they  had  all  been  knocked  or  gathered.    Ah! 
there  was  a  splendid  one,  caught  in  the  fork 
of  a    limb ;    or    kicking    about    among    the 
leaves,    he   found   two,   one    on   top   ot   the 
other,  beside  a  sprout  of  blackberry  in  deep 
grass   near  the  edge  of  the    limbs  ;  or,  in  a 
Uttle  hollow  of  the  ground,  he  spied  a  third 
with  a  bee  hole  on  one  side  of  it ;  a  wet  leaf 
stuck  to  the  other  and  a  little  white  mould 

under  it. 

Through  work  and  errand  and  pleasure, 
then,  I  was  ever  learning.  As  I  grew  older 
other  things  helped  to  furrow  habits  more 
deeply.  The  school  to  which  I  was  sent  lay 
across  the  country  ;  and  morning  and  after- 
noon that  country  must  be  traversed.  Hie 
iieio-hbourhood  church  lav  several  miles  oft  in 

xxviii 


^ 


another.     Wh-n  I   entered  college,  throiKrh 

part  of  each  year  I  walked  back  and  forth 

several  miles,  across  the  country  still.  So 
that  by  the  end  of  that  time  and  as  the  end 
ot  it  alL  I  had  learned  some  little  about 
Nature  in  a  neighbourhood. 

One  fact  is  not  to  be  overlooked  :  that  I 
should  probably  have  learned  less,  had  the 
neighbourhood  contained  more  children.  Of 
course  this  neighbourhood  contained  its  chil- 
dren, otherwise  it  would  not  have  been  one. 
But  there  were  some  families  with  whom  we 
did  not  exchange  visits.  I  had  whole  groups 
and  flocks  of  cousins,  away  off  below  the 
horizon,  in  two  or  three  directions  ;  but  J  saw 
them  too  seldom  —  to  my  sorrow.  Then 
there  were  much  older  boys    far    ahead    of 

me  and  babies  everywhere  behind  me no 

trouble  about  babies.  But  at  a  certain  period 
there  seemed  to  have  been  a  lull,  and  during 
that  lull  I  was  born.  So  that  strictly  I  had 
no  adjacent  contemporaries.  Undoubtedly 
this  had  its  effect  — this  absence  of  compan- 
ionship :  it  often  led  me  to  follow  the  negroes 

xxix 


if 


n 


into  the  fields,  where  as  K,n^  result  I  watched 
the  hemp  through  all  its  changes.  Another 
result,  more  important  hy  tar  for  me,  was  the 
dependence  it  createtl  upon  other  things  tor 
plav,  stutlv,  interest,  activity,  curiosity,  aftec- 
tion.  So  that  the  other  inhabitants  of  my 
world  —  domestic  fowls,  dumb  brutes,  birds, 
creatures  of  the  woods  —  took  measurably 
from  the  first  the  place  of  the  human  species. 
There  has  never  been  reason  to  regret  these 
universal  childhood  friendships:  none  of 
them  has  ever  been  broken  :  they  mean  more 
the  longer  thev  last. 

In  so  far  as  literature  is  concerned  these 
same  experiences  taught  me,  and  have  always 
compelled  me,  to  see  human  lite  as  set  in 
Nature  :  finding  its  explanation  in  soil  and 
skv  and  season :  merely  one  of  the  wild 
growths  that  spring  up  on  the  surface  of  the 
earth  amid  ten  thousand  others.  I  hold  this 
to  be  the  only  true  way  in  which  to  write  of 
Man  in  fiction,  as  it  is  in  science.  T  further 
hold  it  to  be  true  that  if  a  writer  is  ever  to 
have  that    knowledge   of  a    country    which 

XXX 


reappears  in  his  work  as  local  colot,,-,  he  must 
havegorrcnitin  his  chiKihood  ;  that  n<,  „ne 
ever  knows  Xature  anywhere  unless  he  has 
known  Nature  somewhere  in  his  vowth  ;  and 
that  he  who  has  thus  known  her  in  one  phice 
can,  at  any  time,  easily  know  her  in  any  other. 
There  ma>-  he  new  terms,  phrases,  trroupings, 
and  arrangements  ;  hut  it  is  the  same  Mother- 
Speech  learned  at  the  knee. 

Hehiml  all  that  I  have  written  lie  the  land- 
scapes of  a  single  neighbourhood.      'J'hcy  are 
in    -rhe  nine   Grass   Region    of  Kcutiuh^  m 
hluteand  I'lolni;   still  more  in  ./  Summer  in 
Arcady,   in  A  Kentucky   Cardinal  and   After- 
math;   and    in    -The    Reign    of  Lazv.       The 
question  is  often  asked,  how  can  a  man  in  a 
ciry  write  of  a  country  tar  awav  that  he   has 
not  seen  for  years.     But  that  country  is  never 
tar  awav  and  the  man  looks  over  into  it  un- 
ceasingly.    He  has  hut  to  lift  his  eyes  to  see  it 
—  as  clearly  as  he  s-es  the  people  in  the  street. 
Such   pictures  of  outdoor  life  are  for  any 
one  a  great  possession,  a  divine  indestructible 
wealth;  and  it  is  for  the  simple  sake  of  try- 

XX  xi 


ing  to  spread  the  love  of  Nature — of 
scattering  broadcast  such  wealth  —that  he 
has  written  down  these  words  with  a  certain 
childish  figure  so  much  in  evidence:  but  this 
boy  vvas  the  onlv  one  that  he  had  the  right 
to  use  as  an  illustration. 

J.  L.  A. 

Nkw  York   Citv, 
10  October,  k^oo. 


xxxn 


A   KI':NTUCKY  cardixal 


■M 


melt  u  flowc 
silverv  bou 
avenues.       i 
limped  twice 
a  creature  sti 

B 


across  the  lawn,  ruul  tii 
rrin^  to  chase  it.      N 


ire 

ere  was  not 

ow  the  nisrht 


i      "   \ 


is  bitter  cold,   with  no  sounds   outside   but  the 
crackini;  of  the  jiorches  as  they  freeze  ti,L;hter. 


Ap", 


'^•, 


'^A 


.^Ih. 


4  i^^iJ?^'^^' 


7 


ArrRiaiKNsioNs  oi  lAi.i.iNt;  wk.vhii.k. 


ICvcn  the  north  wind  seems  grown  too  numb  to 
move.     I  had  determined  to  convert  its  coarse, 

2 


I 


])i.i;  ndise  into  soiiiethin--  sweet— as  may  oltcn 
he  done  by  a  little  art  with  the  thin,i;s  of  this 
lite  — and  so  stretched  a   horse-hair  above  the 
opening;  between   the  window  sashes;     l)ut  the 
s.)iil    (.t   my    harp    has   dej)arte(I.       I    hear    but 
the  comtortable  roar  and  snaj)  of  hickory  l..-s, 
iit  lonj;  intervals  a  deeper  breath  from  the  doi; 
stretclied  on  his  side  at  my  feet,  and  the  crickets 
under  the  hearth-stones.     They  have  to  thank 
nie  for  that  nook.      One  chill  afternoon  I  came 
ui.on  a  wiiole  company  of  them  on  the  western 
slojjc  of  a  woodland  mound,  so  lethar-ic  that  I 
thumped  them  repeatedly  before  they  could  .-o 
much  as  i;et  their  senses.     There  was  a  branch 
near  by,  and   the  smell   of  mint   in   the   air,  so 
that    liad    they  ])een    youni;    Kentuckians    one 
mi-ht  have  had  a  clew  to  the  situation.     With 
an    ear    for   winter    minstrelsy,    I    brouo-ht    two 
home    in    a    handkerchief,   and    assi<;ned    them 
an   ele-ant   suite   of  apartments   under  a  loose 
brick. 

Hut  the  finest  music  in  the  room  is  that  which 
streams  out  to  the  ear  of  the  spirit  in  many  an 
excpiisite  strain  from  the  han<,qn[;  shelf  of  book.s 
on  the  opposite  wall.  Kvery  volume  there  is 
an  instrument  which  some  melodist  of  the  mind 
created  and  set  vibratino-  with  music,  as  a  fiower 


i    \ 


■  1 


LTCKCO    AM)    Mix  KlNG-lilKl). 


I 


shak 


OS  out  Its  j)crtunic 


or  a  star  shakes  out  its 


had 


h'j:ht.      Onlv  Hsten,  and  they  soothe  all  eare.  as 
thoui^h    the   silken  soft   leaves  of    ]-)oi)i)ie; 
been   made  vocal  and   i)oured  into  the  ear. 
Towards    dark,   havin--  seen    to    the   comfort 


of   a   house 


hold  of    kind,   faithful   fellow-bein-s, 


v.honi  man  in 


his  vanitv  calls  the  lower  animals, 


I    went    last   to   walk    under   the   cedars   in   the 
front  vard.  listening;  to  that  music  which   is  at 
once  so  cheery  and  so  sad  —  the  low  chirping  of 
birds  at  dark  winter  twiliL;hts  as  they  -ather  in 
from  the  frozen  fields,  from  snow-buried  shrub- 
be-y  and   hed-;-e-rows,  and  settle   down   for  the 
night  in  the  dei)ths  of  the  evergreens,  the  only 
refuge  from  their  enemies  and  shelter  from  the 
blast.       But    this    evening    they    made    no    ado 
about  their  home-coming.    To-day  perhaps  none 
had  ventured   forth.      I   am   most   uneasy  when 
the   red-bird    is  forced   by   hunger  to  leave  the 
covert  of    his   cedars,    since    he,    on    the    naked 
or  white  landscaiies  of  winter,  offers  the  most 
far-shining    and   beautiful   mark   for   Death.      1 
stepped  across  to  the  tree   in  which  a  pair  ot 
these   birds    roost,  and   shook   it.   to    make  sure 
they  were  :it  home,  and  felt  relieved  when  they 
fluttered  into  the  ne.xt  with  the  quick   startled 
notes  thev  utter  when  ari)used. 

5 


^^■^-  iwrm.KKi.  kjmm.v  at  kaui  otiikk. 


.-:^^ 


The  ].)n-cr  I  live  here,  the  l)etter  satisfied  I 
am  in  huvin>;  jjjtched  my  earthly  camp-tire, 
yypsylike,  on  the  cd'^c  of  a  ti>\vn,  keepinj;-  it 
one  side,  and  the  <'reen  fields,  1; 


on 


nes,  and  woods 
on  the  other.  I'laeh,  in  tnrn,  is  to  me  as  a  ma--- 
net  to  the  needle.  At  times  tiie  needle  of  my 
nature  points  towards  the  country.  On  that 
side  everythin.i;  is  j)()etry.  I  wander  over  field 
and  forest,  and  throu<;h  me  runs  a  j;lad  current 
of  feelin,i;  that  is  like  a  clear  lirook  across  the 
meadows  of  May.  At  others  the  needle  veers 
round,  and  I  <;()  to  town  —  to  the  massed 
haunts  of  the  highest  animal  and  cannihal. 
That  way  nearly  everything  is  jirose.  I  can 
feel  the  j^-ose  rising  in  me  as  I  step  along, 
like  hair  on  the  back  of  a  dog,  long  before  anv 
other  dogs  are  in  sight.  And,  indeed,  the  case 
is  much  that  of  a  country  dog  come  to  town,  so 
that  growls  are  in  order  at  every  corner.  The 
only  being  in  the  universe  at  which  I  have  ever 
snarled,  or  with  which  I  have  rolled  over  in  the 
mud  and  fought  like  a  common  cur,  is  Man. 

Among  my  neighbours  who  furnish  me  much 
of  the  i^lain  prose  of  life,  the  nearest  hithert:) 
has  been  a  bachelor  named  Jacob  Mariner.  I 
called  him  my  raincrow,  liecause  the  sound  of 
his  voice  awokeapprehcnsions  of  falling  weather. 


il 


J.1 


II 


•ifii 


•'A  i^m^ 


\(^~^wtf^-\ 


^/' 


xist^''~ 


■lt^. 


s  k-i'  B : 


% 


k-*i- 


-(2 


)^   •/.  >... 


MANY    AN    KXi^ri^iirK    SIKAIN. 


8 


V. 


A  visit  from  him  was  an  endless  drizzle.  Vor 
Jacob  came  over  to  expound  his  minute  symp- 
toms ;  and  had  everything  that  he  gave  out  on 
tne  subject  of  human  ailments  been  written 
down,  it  must  have  made  a  volume  as  large,  as 
solemn,  and  as  inconvenient  as  a  famiU'  Bible. 
My  other  nearest  neighbour  lives  across  the  road 
—  a  widow,  Mrs.  Walters.  I  call  Mrs.  Walters 
my  mocking-bird,  because  she  reproduces  by 
what  is  truly  a  divine  arrangement  of  the  throat 
the  voices  of  the  town.  When  she  flutters 
across  to  the  yellow  settee  under  the  grape-vine 
and  balances  herself  lightly  wit^h  expectation,  I 
have  but  to  request  that  she  favour  me  with  a 
little'singlng,  and  as  soon  the  air  is  vocal  with 
every  note  of  the  village  songsters.  After  this, 
Mrs.  Walters  usually  begins  to  flutter  in  a  moth- 
erly way  around  the  subject  of  wj'  symptoms. 

Naturally,  it  has  been  my  wish  to  bring  about 
between  this  raincrow  and  mocking-bird  the 
desire  to  pair  with  one  another.  For,  if  a  man 
always  wanted  to  tell  his  symptoms,  and  a  woman 
always  wished  to  hear  about  them,  surely  a  mar- 
riage compact  on  the  basis  of  such  a  passion 
ought  to  open  up  for  them  a  union  of  ever- 
flowing  and  indestructible  felicity.  They  should 
associate    as    perfectly    as    the    compensating 


tt 


^i 


b 


^WT« 


ff 

1/ 


1/ 


i'( 


1:/ 


metals  (.t  a  pciuliilum,  of  whirh  the  one  con- 
tracts as  the  oilier  expands.  And  then  1  should 
be  a  little  haj)pier  niyse't.  Hut  the  perversity 
ol  life!  Jacob  would  never  confide  in  Mrs. 
Walters.  Mrs.  Walters  wouUi  never  inquire  for 
Jacob. 

Xow  j)oor  Jacob  is  dead,  of  no  c()mi)]aint 
aj.parently,  and  with  so  few  symptoms  that 
even  the  doctors  did  not  know  what  was  the 
matter,  and  the  ui)shot  of  this  talk  is  that  his 
l)Iace  has  ])een  sold,  and  I  am  to  have  new 
nei«;hbours.  What  a  disturbance  to  a  man 
\W\n<j;  on  the  edi;e  of  a  (piiet  town! 

Tidin-s    of    the    calamity   came    to-day    from 
Mrs.  Walters,  who  fiew  over  and  sanic— san<'- 
even  on  a  January  afternoon  —in  a  manner  to 
ri\al  her  most  vociferous  vernal  execution.      ]^ut 
the  poor  creature  was  so  truly  distressed  that  I 
followed  her  to  the  front  cr^tc,  and  we  twittered 
kmdiy  at  each  other  over  the  fence,  and  ruffled 
our  i^luma^i^re  with  common   disapproval.     It  is 
marvellous  how  a  member  of  her  sex  will  con- 
ceive dislike  of  people  that  she  has  never  seen  ; 
but  birds  are  sensible  of  heat  or  cold  long  before 
cither  arrives,  and  it  may  be  that  this  mockinj,^- 
bird  feels  something  wrong  at  the  quill  end  of 
her  feathers. 

lO 


•^*' 


>'. 


II 


S.  WALTKRS  this 
morninL,^  with  more 
news  touching;  our 
incoiiiin-;"  neighbours. 
Whenever  I  have 
faced  towards  this 
a<;<;rc.i;ation  of  unwel- 
come individuals.  I  have  beheld  it  moving? 
towards  nie  as  a  thick  (,n-ay  mist,  shutting;-  out 
nature  beyond.  Perhaps  they  are  approaching; 
this  part  of  the  earth  like  a  comet  that  carries 
its  tail  before  it.  and  T  am  already  enveloped  in 
a  disturbin^:.  befo,%M'n^-  nebulosity. 

There  is  still  no  ,<,a'tting  the  truth,  but  it  ap- 
pears  that  they  are  a  family  of  consequence  in 
their  way  —  which,  of  course,  may  be  a  very 
poor  way.  Mrs.  Margaret  Cobb,  mother,  lately 
bereaved  of  her  husband,  Joseph  Cobb,  who  fell 

1 1 


'i^ 


I 


amon^i;  the  Kentucky  boys  at  the  battle  ol  liueiia 
Vista.     A  son,  Joseph  Colib,  now  cadet  at  West 
I'oint,  with  a  desire  to  die  like  his  father,  but 
destined  to  die  —  who  knows?  —  in  a  war  that 
niav  break  out  in  this  country  about  the  ne<:roes. 
Then  there  is  a  daughter,  Miss  (ieorgiana  Cobb, 
who  embroiders  biuc-and-pink-worsted  dogs  on 
])lack   foot-cushions,  makes  far-off  crayon  trees 
that  look  like  sheej)  in  the  act  of  variously  fret- 
ting u])  and  lying  down  on  a  hill-side,  and,  v.hen 
the  dew  is  falling  and  the  moon  is  thc'shajie  of 
the  human  lips,  touches  her  guitar  with  maidenly 
solicitude.     Lastly,  a  younger  daughter,  who  is 
in  the  half-fledged  state  of  becoming  educated. 
While   not   reconciled,    I    am   resigned.     The 
young  man  when  at  home  may  wish  to  practise 
the  deadly  vocation  of  an  American  soldier  of 
the  period  over  the  garden  fence  at  my  birds,  in 
which  case  he  and  I  could  readily  fight  a  duel, 
and  help  maintain  an  honoured  custom  of   the 
commonwealth.     The  older  daughter  will  sooner 
or  later  turn  loose  on  my  heels  one  of  her  pack 
of  blue  dogs.     If  this  should  befall  me  in  the 
spring,  and  I  survive  the  dog,  I  could  retort  with 
a   dish   of  strawberries   and   a  copy  of   "  Lalla 
Rookh  "  ;  if  in  the  fall,  with  a  basket  of  grapes 
and  Thomson's   "Seasons,"  after  which  there 

12 


Il 


0 


■•fT.c. 


TOTCUKS    )I1  K   criTAR   WITH    MAinFNIY   SOTJCTTUDK. 


k' 


I 


would  1)0  IK)  tiirthci-  c\rli;m.i;o  ol  hostilities. 
'I'hc  \()unL;i'r  claii,L;hlci ,  hcini;'  ;i  st-hooI-,i;iil,  will 
occasioiKill)'  ha\c  to  be  suhdiu'd  with  ,L;rocM 
apples  and  salt.  'I'he  mother  eoidd  easily  <;ive 
trouble  ;  or  she  iiii;;ht  be  one  ot  those  tew  women 
to  kiiovv  w!iom  is  to  know  the  best  that  there  is 
in  all  this  laiilty  world. 

The  middle  ot  I'ebruary.  'I'he  depths  ot"  win- 
ter reaehed.  'rh()U,L;"httul,  thoii^^htless  words  — 
the  dejjths  of  winter.  I'A'crythinj.:;  L^one  inward 
and  downward  from  surface  and  summit,  Nature 
at  low  tide.  In  its  time  will  come  the  hei^iit  of 
summer,  when  the  tides  of  life  will  rise  to  the 
tree-tops,  or  be  dashed  as  siK'ery  insect  sjjray 
all  but  to  the  clouds.  So  bleak  a  season  touches 
my  concern  for  birds,  which  never  seem  (juite 
at  home  in  this  world;  and  the  winter  has  been 
most  lean  and  hungry  for  them.  Many  snows 
have  fallen  —  snows  that  are  as  raw  )tton 
sj^read  over  their  breakfast-table,  and  ...dnf^ 
off  connection  between  them  and  its  bounties. 
Next  summer  I  must  let  the  weeds  <;row  up  in 
my  garden,  so  that  they  may  have  a  better 
chance  for  .seeds  above  the  stinjjjy  level  of  the 
universal  white.  Of  late  I  have  opened  a  pawn- 
broker's shop  for  my  hard-pressed  brethren  in 
feathers,  lendinj;-  at  a  fearful  rate  of  interest; 

14 


for    cvci\-    1 


)(i|  TiiU  in; 


a/aiiis   wil 


ia\L'   to   j)a\' 


mc  back  in  duo  time-   by  monthlv  iiistahiKMit>  ot 
sin^in,!;-.       I    shall    have    mine   own    aj^aiii    with 
usury.       Hut    witc    a    mau    lu-vor    so    usuiaons, 
Would  Ik-  not  lend  a  winter  seotl   lor  a   suuiuut 
son-;- .^       Would     ho    ivtuso    to    invent    his    stale 
crunibs    in    an    orehestra   of   divine    instnnnents 
and   a  elu.ir  of    hea\enly   voices?     And   to(la\. 
also.  1    ordered    from   a   nursery-tnan  more  trees 
of   holly,  juniper,  and  tir.  since  the  storm  beat. mi 
cedars  will   have  to  come  down,      \u)v  in    Ken- 
tucky, when  the  forest  is  naked,  and  every  shrub 
and  hed-;e-row  bare,  what  would   become  of  oiu- 
birds  in  the  universal  ri.^our  and  exposure  of  the 
World    it    there   were  no   ever-reens     -  Natur^-'s 
hostelries  for  the  homeless  ones?     Livin--  in  the 
depths  of  these,   they  can    keep   snow.   ice.    and 
wind   at  hay;   pryin--  eyes  cannot  watch  them, 
nor  enemies  so  well  draw  near;   cones  or  seed  or 
Ivrries  arc  their  store;   and  in  those  untrodden 
chambers  each  can  have  the  sacred  companv  of 
his  mate.      Hut  winterin.ii;  here  has  terrible  risks 
which   few  run.      Scarcely  in   autumn   have  the 
leaves  ben^iin  Xn  drop  from  their  hi.oh   i)erches 
silently  downward  when  the  birds  be-in  to  drop 
away  from  the  bare  boui;hs  silently  southwaiil. 
Lo  !  some  mornini;-  the  leaves  are  on  the  ^n^ind, 


r 


n; 


and  the  birds  have  vanished.  The  species  that 
remain,  or  that  come  to  us  then,  wear  the  hues 
of  the  season,  and  melt  into  the  tone  of  Nature's 
back^^round  — blues,  <4:rays,  browns,  with  touches 
oi  white  on  tail  and  breast  and  win«^-  for  comitii;- 
flecks  of  snow.     , 

Save  only  him  —  j^roud,  solitary  stran^^er  in 
our  unfriendly  land  — the  tiery  j^rosbeak.  Nature 
in  Kentucky  has  r.o  wintry  harmonies  for  him. 
!:!e  could  find  these  only  amoni;-  the  tufts  of  the 
October  sumac,  or  in  the  i;um-tree  when  it 
stands  a  jiillar  of  red  twili<;ht  fire  in  the  dark 
November  woods,  or  in  the  far  depths  of  the 
crimson  sun.set  skies,  where,  indeed,  he  seems 
to  have  been  nested,  and  whence  to  have  come 
as  a  messen<;-er  of  beauty,  bearin^i.,^  on  his  win^s 
the  lii;-ht  of  his  diviner  home. 

With  almost  e\  erythin<;  earthly  that  he  touches 
this  hi-;h  herald  of  the  trees  is  in  contrast. 
vXmoni;  his  kind  he  is  without  a  jx'er.  luen 
when  the  whole  company  of  summer  voya<;ers 
have  sailed  back  to  Kentucky,  sini^n'ni;-  and  lau^h- 
in<;-  pnd  kissin-;-  one  another  under  the  enormous 
i;-reen  umbrella  of  Nature's  leaves,  he  still  is 
beyond  them  all  in  lowliness.  Hut  when  tlu\ 
have  been  wafted  away  aL;ain  to  briL;"hter  skies 
and  to  soft  islands  over  the  sea,  and   he  is  lell 

1 6 


c 


A    UlslAM       il  \kl'    llo.p]  Ki 

^7 


I  ( 


t 


;il 


i) 


alone  oil  ilic  cd'j^c  of  that  Northern  world  which 
he  has  dared  invade  and  inhahit,  it  is  then,  amid 
black  clouds  and  drittin^^  snows,  that  the  ^or- 
<;eous  cardinal  stands  forth  in  the  ideal  |)iclure 
of  his  destiny.  For  it  is  then  that  his  beaiitv  is 
most  conspicuous,  and  that  Death,  lover  of  the 
j)eeiless,  strikes  at  him  from  afar.  So  that  he 
retires  to  the  twilii^'ht  solitude  of  his  wihl  foi-- 
Iress.  Let  him  even  show  his  noble  head  and 
breast  at  a  sMt  in  its  screen  window-shades,  and 
a  ray  flashes  from  it  to  the  eve  of  a  cat ;  let 
him,  as  sjjrin^"  comes  on,  burst  out  in  despera- 
tion and  mount  to  the  tree-tops  which  he  loves, 
and  his  _i;leamin_i;'  red  coat  betravs  him  to  the 
])oised  hawk  as  to  a  distant  sharpshootei  ;  in 
the  barn  near  by  an  o\.\\  is  waitinj;"  to  do  his 
ni.i;"ht  marketing  at  various  teiuler-meat  stalls  ; 
and,  above  all,  the  eye  and  heart  of  man  are 
his  diurnal  and  nocturnal  foe.  What  wonder 
if  he  is  so  shy,  so  rare,  so  secluded,  this  flame- 
coloured  j)risoner  in  dark-green  chambers,  who 
has  only  to  be  seen  or  heard  and  Death  adjusts 
an  arrow  ! 

No  vast  Southern  swamps  or  forest  of  pine 
here  into  which  he  may  i)lunge.  If  he  shuns 
man  in  Kentuckv,  he  must  haunt  the  long 
lonelv  river  vallevs  where  the  wiltl  cedars  grow. 


Tl  he  comes  into  this  inimediate  swarmiiiL;  pas- 
toral re-ion,  where  the  pe()|)le,  with  ancestral 
love  of  j)rivaey,  and  not  trom  anv  kindlv 
thought  of  him,  plant  everL;reens  around  their 
country  homes,  he  must  live  under  the  verv 
L;uns  and  amid  the  pittalls  of  the  enemy. 
Surely,  could  the  first  male  of  the  sj)ecies 
ha\e  foreseen  how,  throu<;'h  the  generations  of 
his  race  to  come,  hoth  their  heaulv  and  their 
son<;,  which  were  meant  to  announce  them  to 
Love,  woukl  also  announce  them  to  Death,  he 
must  have  ))lanche(l  snow-white  with  despair 
and  turned  as  unite  as  stone.  Is  it  this  rii.<;ht 
trom  the  inesca|)ahle  just  hehind  that  makes 
the  sin-;in,i;-  of  the  red-bird  thou-htful  and  plain- 
ti\e,  and,  indeed,  nearly  all  the  wild  sounds  of 
Nature  so  like  the  outcry  of  the  doomed.'  He 
will  sit  for  a  loni;'  time  silent  and  motionless  in 
the  heart  of  a  tedar,  as  if  al)sorbed  in  the  traffic 
memories  of  his  race,  'riicn,  softiv,  wearilv.  he 
will  call  out  to  }ou  and  to  the  whole  world: 
/\(i(i' .  . /\(ht- .  .  J\(h-i\  .  I\(U-r  .  .  ]\-(n-c !  —  the 
most  melodious  si^h  that  ever  issued  from  tiie 
clefts  of  a  duni;eon. 

For  colour  and  foi-m.  brilliant  sini;in_i;.  his  \eiv 
enemies,  and  the  bold  nature  he  has  never  lost. 
I  have  lonj;-  been  most   interested   in   this  bird. 

19 


\f> 


i 


I'A-cry  year  several  jiairs  make  their  ap])eai-aiue 
about  my  place.  This  winter  esj)ecia]Iy  I  have 
been  leedin-- a  pair;  and  there  should  be  tiner 
music  in  the  si)ring\  and  a  lustier  brood  in 
summer. 


*  I 


If 


20 


i' 


^^3i« 


^/f^.-^^riA  ' 


iir 


ARCM  has  gone  like  its 
winds.  The  other  night 
as  I  la\-  awake  with 
that  yearning  which 
often  beats  within, 
.^  there  fell  from  the 
upper  air  the  notes 
of  the  wild  gander  as  he  wedged  his  way  on- 
ward by  faith,  not  by  sight,  towards  his  distant 
bourn.     I  rose  and,  throwing  open  the  shutters, 

strained  eyes  towards  the  unseen  and  unseeiu"- 

o 

21 


'II 


I 


h 


I 


explorer,  startled,  as  a  half-aslecj-)  soldier  might* 
be  startled  h)-  the  laint  bugle-call  ot  his  eoni- 
niander,  blown  to  him  from  the  clouds.  What 
tar-off  lands,  streaked  with  mortal  dawn,  docs 
he  believe  in  ?  In  what  soft  sylvan  waters  will 
he  bury  his  tired  breast  ?  Always  when  I  hear 
his  voice,  often  when  not,  I  too  desire  to  be  up 
and  gone  out  of  these  earthly  marshes  where 
hunts  the  dark  I^'owler,  ~  gone  to  some  \ast, 
pure.  oj)en  sea,  where,  one  by  one,  my  scattered 
kind,  those  whom  I  love  and  those  who  lo\e 
m  \  will  arrive  in  safety,  there  to  be  together. 

March  is  a  month  when  the  needle  of  my 
nature  dips  towards  the  country.  I  am  away, 
greeting  everything  as  it  wakes  out  of  winter 
sleep,  stretches  arms  uj)ward  and  legs  down- 
ward, and  drinks  goblet  after  goblet  of  voung 
sunshine.  I  must  find  the  dark  green  snowdroj), 
and  sometimes  helj)  to  remove  from  her  head, 
as  she  lifts  it  sU)\vly  from  her  couch,  the  frosted 
nightcaj),  which  the  old  Nurse  would  still  insist 
that  she  should  wear.  The  pale  green  tips  of 
daffodils  are  a  thing  of  beauty.  There  is  the 
sun-struck  brook  of  the  held,  underneath  the 
thin  ice  of  which  drops  form  and  fall,  form  and 
tail,  like  big  round  silvery  eyes  that  grow  bigger 
and  l)rigliter  with  astonishment  that  you  should 


1  c 

(I 


^ 


1 


]aii,q;h  at  ihom  as  thcv  vanish.      I'nit  most  T  l(n-c 
to  sec   Nature  do  her  s|)rin--  house-cleaning;    in 
Kentucky,  with   the   rain-tlouds   toi-   her  water- 
buckets  and  the  wiiuls   tor  her   hioonis.      What 
an  amount  of  (h-enchin-  and  sweeping;   she  can 
do  in  a  day  !      How  she  dashes  paiH'ul  and   pail- 
lul  into  every  corner,  till   the  whole  earth   is  as 
clean  as  a  new  Hoor  I      Anothei-  dav  she  attacks 
the  piles  ol    dead    lea\es,  where   thev  haw    lain 
since  last  ( )ctol)ei-,  .ind  scatters   them    in  a  trice, 
so  that  e\ery  cranny  may  he  sunned   and   aired. 
Or,  orasi)in<;-   her  Ion--   brooms  by  the   handles, 
she  will  -o  int<i  the  woods  and  beat  the  icicles 
off    the   hi--   trees   as   a    housewile   would   brush 
down    cobwebs;     so    that     the     released     limbs 
strai.i^hten  up  like  a  man  who  has  ,t;()tten  out  of 
debt,  and  alnio;-'.    say   to   you,   jo\  fui!\-,    "  Now, 
then,  we  are  all   ri-ht  a-ain  !  "'     This  done,  she 
bc<;ins  to  ban,--  up  soft  new  cm-tains  at  the  forest 
windows,  and  to  spiead  o\cr  her  floor  a  new  car- 
l)et  ol   an  emerald  lo\eliness  such   as  no  moital 
looms  coukl   e\er   have   woven.      And    then,   at 
last,  she  sends  out  invitations  through  the  South. 
and  even  to  some  troi)icaI  lands,  for  the  birds  to 
come  and  spend  the  sununer  in  Kentuckv.     The 
invitations  are  sent  out  in   .March,  and  accepted 
in  .April  and  May,  and  by  June  her  house  is  full 
ol  visitijrs. 


23 


\<>t    the  eyes  alone   love    \atnre    in    March. 
I^vei-y    other    sense    hies     abroad.      Mv    ton-ue 
hunts   for  the  last  morsel   of  wet   snow  on  "ihe 
northern  root  of  some  a-ed  oak.      As  one  ^oes 
early  to  a  concert-hall  with  a  passion   even    for 
the  preliminary  tunin- of  the  musicians,  .so  my 
ear  sits  alone  in  the  vast  amphitheatre  of  Nature 
;ind   waits   for  the  earliest  warble   of   the  blue- 
bird, which  s(;ems  to  start  up  somewhere  behind 
the  heavenly  curtains.     .\nd  the  scent  of  sprin- 
is  it  not  the  first  lyric  of  the  nose  — that  dcsi)ise(l 
|)<)et  of  the  senses  ? 

Hut  this  year  I  have  hardly  -lanced  at  the 
small  choice  edition  of  Nature's  sprin--  \erses. 
'I'his  by  rea.son  of  the  on-comin--  Cobbs.  at  the 
mere  mention  of  whom  I  feel  as  though  I  were 
plun<;ed  up  to  my  eyes  in  a  vat  of  the  prosaic. 
Some  day.s  aj^o  workmen  went  into  the  house 
mid  all  but  scoured  the  \ery  memory  of  Jacob 
off  the  face  of  the  earth.  Then  there  has  been 
need  to  quiet  Mrs.  Walters. 

Mrs.  Walters  does  not  '^iii  into  our  best 
society  ;  so  that  the  town  is  to  her  like  a  pond  to 
a  crane  :  she  wades  round  it,  -oin--  in  as  far  as 
she  can,  and  snatches  uj)  such  small  fry  as  come 
shoreward  from  the  middle.  In  this  way  lately 
I  have  nrotten  hints  of  what  is  stirrin<;  in  the 
va.sty  deeps  of  villa<,^e  opinion. 

-4 


^^m^ 


^  I 


fry  ^l*'\ 


.^rv-- 


lU    ■<-' 


A    FAI.sk.    IMl'Rl'.SSION    OK    MRS.    (Oni! 


-^5 


i- 


I 


Mrs.  ("()1)1)  is  ch:ir,t;0(l,  nmon^-  other  drcriflfiil 
thin;4s,  \villi  li;i\ini;  ordrrcil  dl'  the  town  m.mii- 
l.uliiii'r  ;i  i;in-i;ii;t'  th.it  is  \n  i)c  ;is  llm."  as  I'lx-si- 
(Icnt  'ra\liii'>  and  uitli  marchin-'  into  rhiinh 
|)i\'fc(k'd  \)\  a  scixant,  who  bcais  hiM'  ])ia\cr- 
l)0(»k  on  a  \-fl\i'l  (  iishion.      What  il    she  rode  in 


Cind 


0  re 


.1  s  loaeli,  or  iiad    lu'r  i)ra\er-l)ook   cai 


ried  belore   hn    on   the   back   ot    a    (ire 


Kuer 


turtl 


Hut  to   her  sr\   she    i)roniises   to   be   an 


nnidioirs  (  hiistian.  I  a\u  liithi'i"  (hstinned  b\' 
the  ,L;ossi|)  re^aiihni;  the  elder  (hiUL;hli"r.  Hut 
this  is  so  eonlhetini;'  th;it  oiir  impression  is 
made  onl\    to   be  eUaird    b\-   anothei'. 

A  week  aL;o  thrii'  a,L;ent  wanted  to  1)U\-  my 
])hue.  I  was  so  outraL;ed  that  I  L;i»t  th>un  mv 
map  ol  Ki'ntuek\'  to  see  where  these  peiuhar 
bcin,i;s  oii-inate.  'lluw  eomc  Irom  a  little  town 
in  the  sonthwestein  corner  ol  the  State,  on  the 
Oiiio  Ri\ci-,  named  Henderson  —  named  troni 
that  Kichai'd  Henderson  who  in  the  \eai'  1775 
boniL;iil  about  hall  ol  KL'ntuckx'  Irom  the  ("hero- 
kees.  and  alterwards,  as  ])resiilent  ol  his  \)\w- 
ciiase.  adibwssed  the  lirst  lei;islati\e  assemblv 
e\ei"  held  in  the  West,  seated  undei"  a  bi^i;"  elm 
tree  outside  the  walls  ol  Hoonsboi'ou^li  lOrt. 
These  ])eoplc  must  be  his  heii's,  or  the\'  would 
never   ha\e  tried    to    pui'chase   my    lew    Sabine 

JO 


] 


II  IIMIIlill 


.-.  -^oiJir-. 


Wa 


%«.;..: 


\      \ 


■,  ^^'>-^v?;'r''siv   ■  x!:'::^'^'*'^'^^'  •    n 


.>-'-:.'2; 


a*:tv2«^' 


^■^v 


«."1     iMiWN     S\\     MAI'    Ml     KI.Ml  (  kV. 


2/ 


acres.      It  is  no  surprise  to  discover  that  the\' 


i 


are    troiii    tlie    (ii\'iii     Kiver    counlrv 


Thev 


nuist  bathe  olteii  in  thai  stream.  1  siiijjjose 
they  wanted  in\'  hont  yard  to  sow  it  in  ])enn\- 
royal,  the  charaeteristie  growth  ot  those  dis- 
tricts. They  surely  distil  it  ami  use  it  as  a 
j)erfuine  on  their  handkerchiefs.  It  was  |)ei- 
liaps  from  the  founder  of  this  famil\'  that 
'I'homas   Jeffei"son  ^^ol   authoiit\'    for    his    state- 


it  that  the  Ohi 


itilul 


meni  tnal  tne  <.>nio  is  me  most  Deautilui  ruei" 
in  the  world — unless,  indeed,  the  President 
formed  that  notion  of  the  Ohio  upon  lifting; 
his  e\'es  to  it  from  the  contemplation  of  (ireen 
River,  llendeison  I  (ireen  l\i\er  region !  'I"o 
this  town  and  to  the  blue-,i;"rass  country  as 
Hceotia  to  Attica  in  the  davs  of  I'ericles.  Here- 
after I  siiall  call  tliese  ])eople  m\  (ji"een  River 
liceotians. 

A  few  days  later  their  at^ent  a.i^ain,  a  little 
frii^id,  ver\  ur'^ent  —  this  time  to  buv  me  out 
on  ni)'  own  terms,  diiy  terms.  Hut  what  was 
])ack  of  all  this,  I  incpiired.  I  did  not  know 
these  people,  had  never  done  them  a  favour. 
Why,  then,  sucli  leterminati'  .:  to  have  me  re- 
moved }  Why  such  bitterness,  \  indictiveness. 
uni;()\ernable  passion  .' 

That  was  the  j)oint,  he  leplied.     This  family 

2.S 


I 


had  never  wroii-cd  „n:  I  had  never  even  seen 
//Av//.  Vet  they  had  heard  ot  nothin-  hut  ni\ 
intense  dishke  ..I  them  and  opposition  to  thei'r 
becoming  my  iiei-hhours.  They  could  n..t  tore- 
?;••>  their  plans,  hut  they  were  cpiite  wiHin-  to 
Kive  me  the  chance  of  leavin-  their  vicinity, 
oti  whatever  I  mi-ht  re-ard  the  most  advanta- 
.U'eous  terms. 

Oh.  my  mockin-.hird,  my  mockin,i;-hird  I 
U'hen  you  have  been  sittin-  on  other  front 
porehes.  have  you,  hy  the  (h'vine  hiw  of  your 
l)ein-.  been  rej)r()ducin-  your  notes  as  thou-h 
they  were  mine,  and  even  pourin-  forth  the 
little  twitter  that  was  meant  for  your  private 
eai"  ? 

As  March  -oes  out.  two  thin-s  more  and 
more  I  hear  — the  cardinal  has  be-un  to  mount 
l(.  the  bare  tops  of  the  locust-trees  and  scatter 
his  notes  downward,  and  over  the  wav  the  work- 
men whistle  and  sin-  The  bird  is'too  shy  t 
sit  in  any  tree  on  that  side  of  the  yard.  Hu: 
his  eye  and  ear  are  studyin-  them'  curiously. 
Sometimes  I  even  fancy  that  he  sn,-s  to  them 
with  a  plaintive  .sort  of  joy,  as  though  he  were 
sayini;-,  "  Welcome—  go  awav  .' "' 


29 


( ) 


'4' 


'^-' 


^ 


\\V.  C'<)l)lis  will  lie  the  tk-alh 
of  nu'  boloiH'  tht'\'  ,i;t.'t 
Ihmo.  The  report  spread 
tiiat  thev  and  I  had  al- 
rea(l\-  had  a  tremendous 
(|iiarrel.  and  that,  rather 
than  li\r  beside  tluan,  I 
had  soKI  them  ni\  plaee. 
This  set  tlowini;"  towards  me  lor  da\s  a  stieam 
ot  peo|)le,  liUe  a  line  ot  ants  passing'  to  and 
l"n»m  the  srene  ol  a  territie  I'nlse  alarm.  I  had 
nothing;'  to  do  but  sit  perli-etlv  still  and  let  eaeh 
ant,  as  it  ran  up.  toueh  me  with  its  antenna', 
,i;et  the  eounter-siL;ii,  and  tui'n  back  to  tlu'  \il- 
lat^e  antdiill.  Not  all.  however.  Some  remained 
to  hear  iiic   abuse  the  (.'()l)bs;   or.  emmtini;"  on 


mv   sii])|)(>rt.    Icll    to  aoiisitii;-    the    C.ihhs    tlu'm- 
s.'lvcs.      When     I    made    not    a    word    ot     lepK. 
c\.-L'i)t  to  assure  lliem  that  I  reallv  had  not  (niai 
relkd  with   the   ("ohhs,  had   nothini;-  aL;ainst  the 
Cohbs,  and  was    immensely  deli^i;hted  that  the 
Col   )s  were  eoinini;-.  they  wert  awav  ama/in_i,dy 
eool   anil   indignant.      Hut    tor  ilavs  1  eontinuet! 
to  heai-   sueh    thm^s   attributed   to   me   that,  ha.d 
that  youn:j,-  West-1'ointer  been  in  the  nei-hboui- 
hood,  and  known  how  to  shoot,  he  must  intallibK 
have   blown    my  head   oil   me.  as  anv    Keutiiekx 
^ontleman  would. 

Others  of  "ly  visitors,  ha\in--  iieard  tiial  i  wa> 
not  to  sell  my  j)laee,  were  so  -lad  ot  it  that  the\- 
walked  around  my  ;;ar(len  and  iiujuired  about 
my  health  ami  the  j)r  )speit  tor  fruit.  \u)V  the 
season  has  come  when  the  highest  animal  be-in^ 
to  i)ay  r.ie  some  attention.  DuriiiL';  the  wintei-, 
ha\in,L;-  little  to  routribute  to  the  eommunitv,  I 
drop  trom  comnumal  notiee.  lUit  theri- are  eer 
tain  ladies  who  bow  sweetK  to  me  wdien  m\ 
roses  and  honeysuekles  burst  intit  bloom  ;  a  fat 
old  cavidier  of  the  South  be,<;ins  t(.  shake  hamls 
with  nic  when  m\-  aspara_i;us  bed  begins  to  send 
up  its  tender  stalks;  I  am  in  hi,L;ii  fasourwith 
t\\M  or  three  youni;  ladies  at  the  season  of  lihes 
and    sw<'et-pe;i;   there  is  one  old   soul  who  cs()e- 

31 


w 


T 


'/ 


■•  V 


V.  ^>,- 


*?-» .  > 


y 


LhKlAlN    UADIlS    Wlln    )li  iW     ^U  IJ  l  l.\      |,i    Mi;_ 


}^ 


k 


^ 


% 


M 


y^ 


/ 


rinlly  loves  rhubarb  pies,  which  she  makes  to  look 
like  little  latticed  porches  in  tront  ol  littl 


e  ureeii 


skies,  and  it  is  she  who  remember 


s  me 


and 


mv 


low  of  pie-|)lant ;  and  still  another,  who  k 
better    than    cat-birds  wh 


nows 


en    currants   are    rii) 


pe 


Above  all,  there  is  a  jM-eacher,  who  thinks  m\ 
sins  are  as  scarlet  so  lon,Lj  as  my  strawberries 
are.  and  plants  himself  in  my  bed  at  that  time 
li»  reason  with  me  of  Jud<^ment  to  come;  and  a 
doctor,  who  ^^ets  despondent  about  my  constitu- 
tion in  pear-time  —  after  which  mv  health 
to  return,  but  never  my  j^ears. 


seems 


So  that,  on  th 


e  whole,  from   Mav  till  (October 


I  am  the  brit-ht  side  of  th 


e  moon,  and  the  telt 


scopes  of  the  t 


own  are  busy  observini;  my  phe- 


nomena ;  after  which  it  is  as  thou-h  I  had 


rolle( 


o\er  on  my  dark   side,  there  to   lie  forj^otten  till 


orue  more  the  si 
zodiac.      But  let 


un  entered  the  j)roj)er  sitle  of  the 
me  except  alwavs  the  few  stead- 


dy   lumiiu)us   s])irits   I    know,   with   wh.in   i 


s  no 


variableness,  neither  shadow  of  turn 


ni! 


It 


anv 


one  wishes  to  bec( 


)me  famous  in  a  c 


ommunitv, 


let  him   buy  a  small   far 


m  on 


th 


e  ed.t'e  ot    u  anc 


owers,   which   he 


cultivate    fruits,  berries,  and   fl 

fre<'ly  skives  away  or  lets  be  freelv  taken. 


Ail  this  has  taken   tivcK    of 


da\^       Besides,    1    ha\ 


\\y  swift   April 


mad 


e   me   a    new   side- 


II 


])(»rch,  niiulo  it  inysoll,  lor  I  like  to  hammer  and 
drive  lhinj;s  home,  and  beeause  the  rose  on  the 
old  one  had  rotted  it  from  j)ost  to  shini^le.      And 
then,  when  I  had  taeked  the  rose  in  place  a(;ain, 
the  Httle  old  window  oj)enin<;  above  it  made  that 
side  of  my  honse  look  like  a  bf)y  in  his  Saturday 
hat  and  Sunday  breeches.     So  in  went  a  lar^e 
new  window  ;  and  now  these  chanires  have  mvs- 
teriously  offended    Mrs.   Walters,  who  savs  the 
town  is  lauj;hin^'  at  nie   for  trvin>;  to  outdo  the 
Cobbs.      'I'he  hi;;"hest  animal  is  the  only  one  who 
is  divinely  ^nfted  with   such   noble  discernment. 
Hut  I   am  not  sorry  to  have  my  place  look  it^ 
best.     When  they  see  it.  they  will   perhaps  un- 
derstand why  I  was  not  to  be  driven  out   by  a 
golden    cracker    on    their    family    whip.       I'hev 
could  not   have  bouc^ht  my  little  woodland   pas- 
ture, where  for  a  Lceneration  has  been  picnic  and 
muster  and    Fourth-of-July  <;round,  and  where 
the  bra\e  fellows  met  to  volunteer  for-the  Me.\i 
can  war.     They  could  not  have  boun;ht  even  the 
heap  of  brush   behind  my  wood-pile,  where  the 
brown  thrashers  build. 


34 


'*^- 


^*-*»- 


K.JS^ 


2^-^  " i)\ 


\ 


»»-'>"-^ 


'/-'> 


L 


IL  f^anf^W  MA^'  I  :ini  ..f  tho  earth,  earthy. 
Thi'  soul  loses  its  wild  while 
pinions;  the  heart  ])iits  forth 
its  short,  powei't'iil  win^s, 
hea\v'  \vitii  heat  and  colrjiir, 
that  thitter.  but  do  not  Htt  it  off 
the  ,L;round.  'I'lie  month  eoines 
ami  L;'oes,  and  not  once  do  1 
think  of  laisini;  ni\  e\es  to  the 
stars.  'I"he  \er\  sind)eanis  tall 
on  the  body  as  a  warm  golden  net,  antl  keep 
thou_:j,ht  and  teelin^;'  Iroin  esea])e.  Nature  uses 
beauty  now  not  t(j  uplitt,  but  to  entire.  I  Hnd 
her  intent  upon  the  one  general  business  of  see- 
in;;  thai  :'o  tvi)e  o|   her  ifeaturi's  L^ets  left  out  of 

35 


A\^ 


k 


» 


'/ 


the  -cncr.ition.s.  Shirlitnl  in  niv  vnrH  full  of 
l)ir(Is.  as  with  a  condensing;  m-Kis-,  <,t  the  world, 
she  can  be  seen  enactin.i;  anion--  iheni  the 
^iranias  of  history.  ^V^ste^day.  in  the  secret 
recess  oj  a  wahiut,  I  saw  the  he-innin.t,^  ol  the 
'I'rnjan  war.  Last  week  I  witnessed  the  battle 
of  Actiuni  (on-ht  out  in  mid-air.  And  down 
anion-  my  hed-es  indeed,  openly  in  my  very 
b.in,  y.n-d— there  is  a  perfectly  .scandalous  Salt 
Lake  ("itv. 

•And  whiK-  I  am  watchin.i;  the  birds,  they  are 
watchin-    me.      Not  a  little    lop    amon-    them, 
havin-  proposed  and  been  accepted,  but  perches 
on  a  limb,  and  has  the  air  ot    puttin<;  his  hands 
mannishly  under  his  coat-tails  and  cryini;  out  at 
me.  "  Hello!  Adam,  what  were  you  made  for.'" 
"  Vim  attend  to  your  busine.s.s,  and  I'll  attend  to 
mine."  I  an.swer.     "  \'ou  have  one  May;  I  have 
twenty-tive  I "      He    didn't    wait    to    hear.       Me 
cau-ht  si-ht  of  a  pair  of  clear  brown  eyes  peep- 
iii.i;-   at   him  out   of   a    near   tuft   of   leaves,  and 
spran-  thither  with  open  arms  and  the  .sound  of 
a  kiss. 

Hut  if  r  have  twenty-five  Mays  remaining;,  are 
not  some  Mays  -one.'  Ah.  well!  Better  a  sin- 
.i;le  May  with  the  rioht  mate,  than  the  full  num- 
ber with  the  wron-.     And  where  is  she       the 

30 


w 


\, 


n\Y.    NI'A'    M  K, III!.  "IK  >    II  \'   I     I  (t\\V. 


37 


I 


n'j;ht  one?  It  she  over  comes  near  my  vnrd 
aiul  answers  my  whistle.  I'll  know  it;  ami  then 
I'll  teaeh  these  popinjavs  in  blue  coats  and 
white   pantaloons  what    Adam   was  made  tor. 


I 
lUit    the    wronu    oiu 


th 


ere  s 


the    terror  ! 


(^nly  think  ot  so  composite  a  phenomenon  as 
Mrs.  Walters,  tor  instance,  adorned  with  limp 
ni;;htca|)  and  stiff  curl-papers,  like  <;arnishes 
around  a  ic;;'  "f  ro-i.sl  mutt«>n,  wakini;'  uj)  beside 


me 


at  four  o'clock  in  the  morninLT  as  s( 


>me  urav 


headed  love-bird  of  I\Iada;.,^ascar,  and  beginning 
to  chirj)  and  trill  in  an  ecstasy ! 

The  new  neighbours  have  come  —  mother, 
younger  daughter,  and  servants.  The  son  is  at 
West  Point ;  and  the  other  daughter  lingers  a 
few  days,  unable,  no  doubt,  to  tear  herself  away 
from  her  beloved  i)enny-royal  and  dearest  (ireen 
River.  They  are  tpiiet ;  have  borrowed  nothing 
from  any  one  in  the  neighbt)urhood  ;  have  well- 
tlressed,  well-trained  servants ;  and  one  begins 
to  be  a  little  impressed.  The  curtains  they  have 
put  up  at  the  windows  suggest  that  the  whole 
nest  is  being  lined  with  soft,  cool,  spotless  love- 
liness, which  is  very  restful  and  beguiling. 

No  one  has  called  yet,  since  they  are  not  at 
home  till  June  ;  but  Mrs.  Walters  has  done  some 
l.dl  wading  lately,  and  declares  that  people  do 


.v\ 


not  know  what  to  think.  Thoy  will  know  whrn 
the  cklcv  daii-hter  arrives;  t..r  it  is  tlic  worst 
nicniI)crot  the  laniily  that  scttk-s  what  tiio  worki 
shall  think  of  the  others. 

It  only  she  were  not  tin*  woist  !  If  onJv  as  I 
sal  here  beside  my  lar-e  new  window,  around 
which  the  (.Id  rose-bush  has  been  trained  and 
now  is  ])loomin,L;.  I  could  look  across  to  jier  win- 
dow where  the  white  em-tains  hani;,  and  feel  that 
behind  then-  sat.  shy  and  ;;entle,  the  wood-|)i-con 
for  whom  Ihrou-h  Mays  -one  by  I  have  been 
va^^Miely  waitin;^^ ! 

And  yet  I  do  not  believe  that  I  could  live  a 
sin;;Ie  year  with  only  the  sound  of  cooin,-;  in  the 
house.  A  wood-pi -eon  would  be  the  death  of 
me. 


vl 


39 


fit:: 


'  '\  /  'VI 


'   '■(/(J       _.i    i" 


^1^ 


\[ 


'Ills  iiKn  iiiii-,  the  "^d  of 
JuiU'.  thr  I  iidiiic  I  nmi 
( licrn  l\i\fi"  iKsr  alioxc 
tlu-    \v;i\c>. 

Till'  straw  l)c!T\-  W'(\  is 
ainiitsl  iiiuhr  tluii  win- 
dows. I  had  i;iinc  out 
to  i^ick  the  Inst  tiish  <•! 
the  si-ason  tor  break  last ; 
tor  while  1  do  n,.t  care  to  cat  except  to  li\-c.  I 
newr  miss  an  oi'portnnity  ol  iivin-;-  upon  straw- 
l>erries. 

40 


k\ 


Jk.l 


F  was  >!..., |, in-  ,l,,\vii  a,  |  L.-ndin^  th,-  uvt 
l>M\c.s  uvcT.  so  as  n..t  i,,  mis,,  auv,  wluai  a  \..irr 
.11  Iho  uiiuh.vv  ahnvc  >- lid.  timidly  aiiti  plavlully. 

"  An-  vdii  ilu'  -ardciu  r  ?  " 

I  l)i«  kcd  (.!i.  tiiniin-  as  rod  as  ilio  lu-riirs. 
'I'iicn   the  \nicc  said   a-aiii, 

"(  ^U\  man.  aiv  \-.)ii  thr  -ardi-iuM'  ?" 

Ot  course- a  ]Ki^nu  looi<in-  d..\viM  aivlosslv  on 

Ilir  st()o|.in-  li-iin    o|  ,////■  ma, i.  and  s^vin-  noth- 

iii.i;-   but   a   laded   straw    hat.   and   arnis   an. I    |,vl 

iiiid  ankles  bent  to-ctlKi.  mi-ht  c-asily  think  him 

(K-cropit  with   n<co.     Some  thin.-s  toiirh  oil    mv 

tcnipcr.      I5ut  I  answncd.  hund)lv 

"  1  am  the  ,t;ai(loncr.  madam." 

"How  mucli  (1..  you  ask  tor  your  strau- 
l)trric's  ?  " 

"The  ^^cntloman  who  owns  this  j)]a(c  docs 
not  sell  his  strawberries.  He  -ivcs  them  awav. 
it  he  likes  people.  How  much  do  you  ask  lor 
j'o///-  strawberries  .'  '" 

"What  a  nice  old  -entleman  !  Is  he  havin- 
those  picked  to  <.:ive  awav  ?  " 

"He  is  havin-  these  pieked  for  his  breaklasi." 

"Don't  you  think  he'd  like  vou  to  ^ivc  me 
those,  and   pick   him   some   more  .^  " 

"  I  tear  not,  madam." 

"  Xevertheless,  you  mi-ht.     He'd  nevei  know." 

41 


0 


^A 


%^:^ 


'r  .':'r-'.        •    >*v 


.••■■  t   IK-*""-    -^    .•        • 


>••^i>,^;>.   ^ 


-> 


■OLD    MA.N,    AKL    \«-il      IHI.    cAUULM-K .' 


4-' 


"  I  think  hed  find  ii  nut." 
"  \'<)ii  aro  not  atraid  ot  hini.  arc  v..ii  '  ** 
"  I  am  u  lu-n  Ik-  -cts  mad." 
"Docs  he  treat  \(.u  hadlv  f" 
"  If  he  (Iocs.  I  always  tor<,qv,'  him." 
"He  doesn't  seem  to  provide  you  with  very 
niany  clothes." 
I  picked  on. 

"  lint  you  seem  nicely  led." 
I  j>i('ke(i  on. 

"  W  hat  is  his  name,  old  man  >  Don't  vou  like 
I"  talk  f" 

"  Adani  Moss." 

"  Such  a  ^aeen.  coo),  sott  nanu-  •  It  is  like  his 
l"-i'^c  and  yard  and  -arden.     What  does  he  do  f  " 

"Whatever  he  jilease.s." 

"NOn  mu.st  not  he  impeitinent  to  me.  or  I'll 
ti'jl  him.     What  does  he  like  ?" 

"  '^''-(Is— red-birds.      Wha,^  do  ,v.//  like  .^  " 

"Ked-birds!  How  does  he"  ratch  them  .> 
riirow  .salt  on  their  tails.'" 

"  He  is  a  lover  of  \ntinv.  madam,  and  partic- 
ularly ot  birds." 

"What  does  ///•  know  about  birds.'  Doesn't 
he  care   for  |)eople  ? " 

"  lie  doesn't  think  manv  worth  carin-  for   ' 
"  Indeed  !      And  //r  is  perfect,  then,  is  he  '  ' 

43 


i 

1 


I 


^1 


'^ 


I 


/  1'  -  ,'  , 


"He  thinks  he  is  nearly  as  had  as  ,,nv;  I)ut 
that  doesn't  n)ake  the  lest  any  l^etter.' 

"I'o"'-  '•Id  .gentleman!  Jle  must  have  the 
blues  ch-eadfully.  What  does  he  do  with  hi. 
birds?  l-at  his  rohins,  and  stuff  his  cats,  an.l 
sell  his  red-hirds  in  ca^es  ? "' 

"He  considers  it  part  of  his  mission  in  lite 
t-  keep  them  from  bein.L;  eaten  or  stuffed  or 
ea.ucd." 

"And  you  say  he  is  nearly  a  hundred'" 
"He  is   somethin,:;   ,,ver  thirty  years  of  a-e, 
madam." 

"Thirty?  Surely  we  heard  he  was  verv  old. 
And  does  he  live  in  that  beautiful  little  old 
liouse  all  by  himself  ?  " 

'*  /  live  with  him  I  " 

"   ^'""'      "'•'    •'''!    ba!      And    what    is    your 
name,  nou  dear  -ood  old  man  ?  ' 
"  Adam." 

"  n.'o    Adams     livin-    in    the    .same    house' 

Are  you  the  .v./ Adam.'      /  have  heard  so  much 
ol  him." 

At  this  I  ro.se.  pushed  back  my  hat,  an.l 
looked  uj)  at  her. 

"/  am  Adam  Mo.ss."  I  said,  with  distant 
l-bteness.  '•  \-nu  .an  have  these  strawl)erries 
l"i  your  breakfast  if  _\.hi  want  them.  ' 

45 


\ 


h 


'A 


f  r  v 


•*--,v..V...V   >        -         '  <       --.     -^'ii^' 


V  a 


f 


>  ■< 


I 


i\  LU     li>    \IV    \Si»iliLAMt    lAi-llM, 


It) 


I 

I 


IHcrc  was  a  l,,u-  (juirk  "Oh  !  •'  ;,,ul  she  was 
,^"iic,  and  the  lairtaiiis  closed  over  her  tace.  It 
was  rude;  hut  neither  ou- lit  she  lo  have  called 
nic  the  old  Adam.  I  have  heeii  thinkin--  ol 
••lie  thiiii;-:  why  should  she  sjjeak  sli-htin-ly  ol 
my  knowled-e  ol  birds  .^  What  does  she  know 
ah.)Ut  them  '      I  should  like  to  intjiiire. 

Late  this  afternoon.  I  dressed  up  in  m\-  hi-h 
,L;ra\  wool  hat.  my  tine  Ion ---tailed  blue  eloih 
roat  with  brass  buttons,  my  pink  waist-coat, 
frilled  shirt,  white  cravat,  and  yelh.w  naid<een 
trousers,  and  walked  slowly  several  times  aiound 
my  strawberry  bed.  J)id  not  see  any  more  ripe 
strawberries. 

Within  the  last  ten  days  I  have  called  twice 
iijjon  the  Cobbs,  ui-ed  no  doubt  bv  an  extrava- 
Kant  readiness  to  find  them  all  that  1  feared 
they  were  not.  Mow  exquisite  in  life  is  the  art 
of  not  seein--  many  things,  and  ol  lor-ettin-; 
many  that  have  been  seen  !  'J'hey  received  me 
as  thoui^^h  nothin--  unpleasant  had  hapi)ened. 
Xor  did  the  elder  dau-hter  betray  that  we  had 
met.  She  has  not  for,i;-otten.  for  more  than 
once  I  suri)rised  a  li-ht  in  her  eyes  as  thou-h 
she  were  lau-hinu-.  She  has  not.  it  is  certain, 
told  even  her  mother  and  sister.     Somehow  this 

47 


u 

) 


.>> 


I: 


^ 


Ln  I  iini.'st.s  licr  <har;utci  with  a  (li.iim  i  (jf 
subterranean  roominess  and  srerei\.  W'littlL'j) 
who  Icll  exerylhini;  are  like  tin^^er-bow  Is  of 
(liar  water. 

lint  it  is  Svlvia  thai  pleases  ine.  She  must 
he  about  seventeen  ;  and  so  demure  and  eontid- 
iui;  that  1  was  reads  to  take  \ivv  h\  the  hand, 
lead  hei'  to  the  ,i;ai(h'n-,L;ate,  and  sa\  :  Dear 
child,  everything  in  here  bnttertlies,  tloweis, 
Iruit,  honey.  e\er\thin.i;  is  \our.s;  eonie  aiul 
i;()  and  -;athei  as  you  like. 

N'esterdav  mornin.L;  I  sent  them  a  lar.i;e  ilish 
ol  strawberries,  with  a  note  asking;  whether 
they  would  walk  durini,^  the  ila\  over  to  my 
woodland  i)asture,  where  the  soldiers  had  a 
liarbeeue  before  settini;'  out  tor  the  Me\iean 
war.  The  mother  and  SyKia  aeeepted.  Our 
walk, was  a  little  overshadowed  l)v  their  loss; 
and  as  I  thou;;htlessly  described  the  ^^avetv  oi 
that  scene  —  the  s|ilen(lid  )()un>;  fellows  danc- 
ing in  their  bri,i;ht  uniforms,  and  now  and  then 
pausing  to  wip  Mieir  foreheads,  the  speeches, 
the  cheering,  k;^  dinner  under  the  trees,  and, 
a  few  thiys  Later,  the  tear-dimmed  eyes,  the 
hand-wringing  and  embracing,  and  at  last  the 
marching  proudiv  away,  each  with  a  Hible  in 
his  pocket,  and  many  never,  never  to  return  — 

.pS 


If 


t- 


I  wajt  Honv  ih.il  I  li.nl  imi  loresccn  the  >aiioil 
t  hoiil  I  u.iN  Unii  hill);.  Hill  il  maik' ;;()(hI  triciuU 
n|  11.-,  moio  »|uii.kly.  and  thi'\  urii-  wcll-hroil.  >«> 
llial  \\L'  ictiiriiod  U>  all  a|)|n'araiKi-  in  _L;a\  ^I'iiii^. 
Tlio  clilcr  (laii^lUrr  laiiu-  tn  nu-ot  ii>,  apil  wlmiI 
at  once  sili'Mtly  to  her  niothci's  sidr.  as  ihnii-h 
.she  had  felt  the  separation.  I  woiuleied  \\lu'thri 
she  had  declined  to  l;<)  because  ol  the  niiinmv' 
.it  her  tather.  As  we  |)assed  iiu'  lioiil  _;.ilr, 
1  asked  them  to  look  at  m\'  fio\\cr>  I  he 
uiiitluT  praised  al.so  the  cal)l)a,L;i's,  thus  showiiii^ 
an  adniirahl)  halaiucil  mind,  the  little  S\l\ia 
lell  in  love  with  a  \ine-id\ered  aihour;  the  elder 
dau^diter  apj)eared  to  he  secretU  watchini;-  lIu- 
many  birds  about  the  L,nouiuls.  but  when  1  pointed 
out  several  less-known  species,  she  lost  interest. 
What  surprises  most  is  that  the\  are  .so  w- 
tined  and  intellij^ent.  It  is  j;reatly  to  be  tearrd 
that  we  Kentiickians  in  this  part  ol  the  State 
are  |)roloundl\'  ignorant  as  to  the  people  in 
other  j)arts.  I  told  Mrs.  Walters  this,  and 
she,  seeini;'  that  I  am  bej;innin<;  to  like  tlu-ni, 
is  l)e^innin,i;  to  like  them  herself.  Dear  Mrs. 
W^alteis  !  Her  few  iileas  are  like  three  or  loin 
marbles  on  a  level  floor:  they  have  no  power 
to  move  themselves,  but  roll  equally  well  in  any 
direction  you  push  them. 


(I 


I 


»  V 


1 


This  altcinoon  I  tiiiiud  ;i  lot  ol  little  town 
hoys  into  my  straubcny  \k  and  now  it  looks 
like  a  tiold  that  had  been  h.(,   ^wcd  and  rolled. 


n 


I  or. 


♦•.vt-" 


Wa 


m 


^  '\-i. 


I  riTI.K    |(i\\\    ll(lV^    INTO    MV    >IK\\\ltlKKN     KlI'. 

I  think  tlK'\'  would  t;iadl\'  ha\e  j)ullcd  up  some 
ot  the  |)lants  to  see  whether  ihere  mii;ht  not  lie 
berries  ^i;"rowini;'  on  the  idots. 

It   is  unwise  to  do  everything;'  that   you   can 
for  people  at  onee  ;   tOr  when  )()U  ean  do  iioth- 


kiv 


in-  more,  they  will  s;iy  yon  arc  no  lon-n  like 
yourscit,  and  turn  a-ainst  noii.  So  I  have 
meant  to  ,i;()  >,lo\vIy  with  the  Cohhs  in  n)y  wish 
to  be  neii;hl)()url\-.  and  do  not  think  that  ihev 
eould  reasonably  be  sjx.iled  on  one  (hsh  o| 
strawberries  in  three  weeks.  lint  the  other 
cvenin^^  Mrs.  Cobb  .sent  over  a  phite  ot  -ohlen 
sallydunn  on  a  siher  waiter,  loxcred  willi  a 
snow-white  napkin  ;  and  ai  tin-  on  this  proxo- 
cation,  I  thou-^ht  they  could  be  trusted  with  a 
basket  of  cherries. 

So  next  niornin,!;-.  in  ordci"  to  sa\e  the  ripen- 
ing- fruit  on  a  rather  small  treeot  thoiee  \  arietv. 
I  thou.!;ht  I  should  put  up  a  .scarecrow,  and  to 
this  end  rumma-ed  a  closet  for  some  last  win- 
tor's  okl  clothes.  These  I  crammed  with  straw. 
and  I  fastened  the  resultinj;-  ti-ure  in  the  ci-otch 
of  the  tree,  tyin--  the  arms  to  the  adjoinin--  limbs. 
and  gi'w'uvj;  it  the  dreadful  api)earance  of  shout- 
inJ^^  "Keep  out  of  here.  \  on  rascals,  or  vou'll 
^et  hurt!"  And.  in  truth,  it  did  look  so  like 
nie  that  I  felt  a  little  uncamn  about  it  mv.self. 

Returning  home  late.  F  went  at  once  to  the 
tree,  where  I  found  not  a  cpiart  of  cherries,  and 
the  servants  told  of  an  astonishini,^  thin:;-  :  that 
no  sooner  had  the  birds  discovered  who  was 
standing    in    the    tree,    wcarin<;-    the    clothes    in 

51 


^1' 


J 


t 


^ 


which  he  used  to  toed  them  during;  the  winter, 
than  the  news  spread  like  wildtire  to  the  etfect 
that  he  hail  elinihed  up  there  and  was  callin";" 
(»iit  :  "Here  is  the  i)e>t  tree,  fellows!  Pitch  in 
and  helj)  vourselves  !  '"  So  that  the  like  ot  the 
chatterinj;  and  letchini;  awav  was  never  seen 
hctore.  This  was  the  storv  ;  hut  little  negroes 
lovi"  cherries,  and  it  is  n<»t  incredible  that  the 
Amerii'an  birds  were  assisted  in  this  instanct*  bv 
a  larj^e  taniily  <»l  tat  younj^;  Atrican  spoon  bills. 
Anxious  to  save  another  tree,  and  afraid  to 
use  more  ot  niv  own  ehUhes.  I  went  oxer  to 
Mrs.  Walters,  and  ^dt  Ironi  her  an  t>ld  bonnet 
and  veil,  a  dress  and  cape,  and  a  j)air  ot  her 
cast-off  yellow  ijjaiters.  These  garments  I  strunj; 
to.i^ether  and  |>re|);ired  to  look  lifelike  as  nearly 
as  a  stuffinL^  of  ha\  would  meet  the  inner  re- 
ipiirements  of  the  case.  I  then  seated  the  dread 
a|)i)arition  in  the  foi  k  o|  a  liud),  and  awaited 
results.  The  tirst  thief  was  an  old  jav.  wjio 
flew  towards  the  tree  with  his  head  turned  to 
one  side  to  see  whether  any  one  was  overtakinj;' 
him.  Hut  scarcely  had  he  alijj;hted  when  he 
uttered  a  scream  of  horror  that  was  sickening 
to  hear,  and  dropped  on  the  grass  beneath,  after 
which  he  took  himself  off  with  a  silence  and 
•>peed  that  would   ha\e  done  credit  to  a  passen- 

5- 


^'er-pirjcon.  That  tree  was  rather  avoided  for 
some  days,  or  it  may  have  been  let  alone  merelv 
because  others  were  ripenin.Lj;  so  that  Mrs.  Cobb 
K')t  her  cherries,  and  I  sent  Mrs.  Walters  some 
also  for  the  excellent  loan  of  her  veil  and  .i^aiters. 

As  the  days  pass  I  fall  in  love  with  Sylvia, 
who  has  been  persuaded  to  turn  my  arbour  into 
a  read in.LC- room,  and  is  often  to  be  found  there 
of  m()rnin<;s  with  one  of  .Sir  Walter's  novels. 
Sometimes  I  leave  her  alone,  sometimes  lie  on 
the  bench  fac  in;;  her.  while  she  reads  aloud,  or. 
tirin<;,  prattles.  Ijttle  half  tled<;ed  spirit,  to 
whom  the  yard  is  the  earth  and  June  eternity, 
but  who  peejxs  over  the  ed;;e  of  the  nest  at  the 
chivalry  of  the  a;;es.  and  fancies  that  she  knows 
the  world.  'I'he  other  dav.  as  we  were  talkin'^ 
she  tai)ped  the  ed,i;e  of  her  l-,;uilioc  with  a  slate- 
pencil —  for  she  is  al.so  studyin.i;  the  (Greatest 
Common  Divi.sor  —  and  .said.  warnin,t;lv.  "  N'ou 
must  not  make  epi-rams;  for  if  you  succeeded 
you  would  be  brilliant,  and  i-verythin;;  brilliant 
is  tiresome." 

"  Who  is  your  authority  for  that  epigram.  Miss 
Sylvia  i  "   I  said,  laughing. 

'•  Don't  you  suppose   that   I    have  any  ideas 
but  what   I  get  from  books  '  " 

53 


n: 


i 


I 


4 


I 


^ 


"  ^'<tll  m,i\  h.wr  .ill  wixlom,  but  those  .sa\in;;s 
piocri'il  oiilv  tioin  oxpcricnci'." 

"I  li.iNo  mv  intuitions;  thcv  arc  hi-ttcr  lli.in 
oxpcricntH'."' 

"Il  \(Ui  1mc|i  on.  \iMi\vill  hr  ni.iUin:;  t'|>i;;ranis 
inoscnlly.  hhI  then  1  shall  Inid  \oii  tiicsonK", 
and  l;o  aua\." 

"  \'on  couldp't.  I  am  \  oiu"  ,L;nt'sl.  Ilouiin- 
conwntional  I  .iin  to  i  oim.-  omt  and  sit  in  \our 
arbour?      Hut  it  is  ( 'K'or:;iana"s  lanlt." 

"  Did  s//r  toll  you  to  c otnc  ?  " 

"No;  but  shf  (bdn't  kt-op  nio  Ironi  ('(^niin^'. 
WIumu'vlt  .in\"  one  ol  us  docs  am  thiui;  improper 
\vc  al\va\s  sav  to  cadi  othci'.  '  It's  ('icor<^iana's 
lanlt.  She  ()ui;ht  not  to  ha\c  tani;lu  us  to  be  so 
simple  and  nneomentional. 

"  And  is  she  the  tamiiv  ,i;(>verness  ?  " 

"She  ,i;overns  the  lamily.  There  doesn't 
seem  to  be  any  real  ^^overnment,  but  we  all  do 
as  she  savs.  ^'ou  niii;ht  think  at  first  that 
Geor^iana  was  the  most  li,L,dUdieaded  member 
ol  the  lamilv.  but  she  isn't.  She's  deeji.  I'm 
shallow  in  comparison  with  hei .  She  calls  me 
sophisticated,  and  introduces  me  as  the  elder 
Miss  Cobb,  and  says  that  il  I  don't  stop  readinp^ 
Scott's  novels  and  learn  more  arithmetic  she 
will  put  white  caps  ori  me,  and  make  me  walk 

54 


,S 


X. 


t"  chiii(li    ill    (.iipi-t    sli|t|K'i^    Mini    witli    _i:r,iiirl- 
motluT  ,s   >tirl>  ■' 

"  Hilt  Mill  (loii'l   scfin  t(i   h,i\»'  .>ti)|(|»c(l.  MisN 
S\lvi.(   " 

"\";  but  Iin  .^toppii,.;.  ru'()r;;iaii;i  ;il\\.i\.s 
^ivos  us  time,  but  wr  -i-l  ri:;ht  at  l.i^t.  [t  was 
two  viMis  brldic  she  ((iiild  makt.'  nu  bfothi'i  :;<) 
to  West  point.  Ill-  was  wild  and  roiii^h,  a]m\ 
wanted  to  laiso  to'tacio,  and  |1<ki  with  it  down 
to  \cw  (  )rl('ans,  aM<l  havi-  a  -ooil  time.  Then 
when  she  had  {gotten  him  to  l;o  she  was  ah  aid 
he'd  come  biek.  and  so  she  persuaded  inx 
mother  to  Hve  here,  where  there  isn't  anv  to- 
bacfo.  ,iiul  where  I  could  be  setu  to  school. 
That  took  her  a  year,  and  n(»w  she  is  breaking; 
up  my  habit  ot  readin.i^^  nothin;;-  but  novels. 
She  ,i;ets  us  all  down  in  the  end.  (  )ne  (kiv  when 
she  and  foe  were  little  children  they  were  out  at 
the  wood-pile,  and  (ieor:;iana  was  sittiii";'  on  a 
lo<;'eatini;  a  jam  biscuit,  with  her  teet  on  the  lo^,^ 
in  front  ot  lu'r.  Joe  had  a  hand-a\e.  and  was 
ehoppin-  at  anxthini^  till  he  cau,;j^ht  si-ht  ot  her 
tcet.  Then  he  went  to  the  end  ot  the  lo!;.  and 
whistled  like  a  steamboat,  and  be^an  to  hack 
down  in  that  direction,  callini;-  out  to  her  :  '  Take 
your  toes  out  ot  the  way.  Geor^iana.  I  am 
coming  down  the  river.     'Jhe  current  is  up  .ind 

55 


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Photographic 

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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTE9,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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I  can't  stop."  '  My  toes  were  there  first,"  said 
Georgiana,  and  went  on  eating  her  biscuit. 
'Take  them  out  of  the  way,  I  tell  you,'  he 
shouted  as  he  came  nearer,  '  or  they'll  get  cut 
off.'  'They  were  there  first,'  repeated  Geor- 
giana, and  took  another  delicious  nibble.  Joe 
cut  straight  along,  and  went  zoliack  !  right  into 
her  five  toes.  Georgiana  screamed  with  all  her 
might,  but  she  held  her  foot  on  the  log,  till  Joe 
dropjied  the  hatchet  with  horror,  and  caught  her 
in  his  arms.  'Georgiana,  I  told  you  to  take 
your  toes  away,'  he  cried;  'you  are  such  a  little 
fool,'  and  ran  with  her  to  the  house.  But  she 
always  had  control  over  him  after  that." 


To-day  I  saw  Sylvia  enter  the  arbour,  and 
shortly  afterwards  I  followed  with  a  book. 

"  When  you  stop  reading  novels  and  begin  to 
read  history,  Mis'  Sylvia,  here  is  the  most  re- 
markable history  of  Kentucky  that  was  ever 
written  or  ever  will  be.  It  is  by  my  father's 
old  teacher  of  natural  history  in  Transylvania 
University,  Professor  Rafinesque,  who  also  had 
a  wonderful  botanical  garden  on  this  side  of  the 
town;  perhaps  the  first  ever  seen  in  this  coun- 
try." 

"I  know  all  about  it,"  replied  Sylvia,  re.sent- 

5^^ 


\\ 


K 


V 


ing  this  sW'^ht  upon  her  erudition.  "  Gcortciana 
has  my  tuthcr's  copw  and  his  was  presented  to 
him  hy  Mr.  Audubon.'" 

"Audubon  !  "    I  said,  with  a  doubt. 
"Never   heard   ot'    .Nudubon.'"   cried   SyKia. 
delii,dited  to  show  up  my  ignorance. 

"Only  of  the  great  Audubon,  Miss  Sylvia; 
the.^Tw/,  the  ver\- ,^'-;-,  .^/  Audubon." 

"  Well,  this  was  the  ,i^-/r,f^,  the  very  ^^-/vv^/ 
Audubon.  He  lived  in  Henderson,  and  kept  a 
corn-mill.  He  and  my  father  were  frieixls.  and 
he  gave  my  father  some  of  his  earlv  drawinirs 
of   Kentucky  birds,     (ieorgiana  has  them  now, 

and  that  is  where  she  gets  her  love  of  birds 

from  my  father.  \vh(j  got  his  from  the  j^n-iyr/,  the 
very  ^prat  Audubon." 

"Would  Miss  Cobb  let  me  see  these  draw- 
ings ?  "   l  asked,  eagerly. 

"  She  might;  but  she  prizes  them  as  much  as 
if  they  were  stray  leaves  out  of  the  only  Bible 
in  the  world." 

As  Sylvia  turned  inside  out  this  pocket  of 
her  mind,  there  had  dropped  out  a  key  to  her 
sister's  conduct.  Now  I  understood  her  slight- 
ing attitude  towards  my  knowledge  of  birds. 
But  I  shall  feel  some  interest  in  Miss  Cobb 
from  this  time  on.      f    never  dreamed  that  she 

57 


M 


i 


4: 


I': 


h 

.    '1 


could  liriiiL;'  nic  fresh  news  of  thai  rare  spiiit 
whom  I  ha\c  so  wished  to  sec,  and  f(>"  one 
week  in  the  woods  with  whom  I  would  ^ixe  au\' 
year  of  my  life.  Are  they  |)ossd)ly  the  Ilen- 
derson  family  to  whom  Audubon  intrusted  the 
box  of  his  orii;inal  drawings  durini;"  his  absence 
in  rhiladelphia.  and  who  let  a  i)air  of  Norway 
rats  rear  a  famil\"  in  it,  and  cut  to  pieces  nearly 
a  thousand  inhabitants  of  the  air  ? 


^ 


There  are  two  more  days  of  June.  Since  the 
talk  with  Sylvia  I  have  called  twice  more  u))on 
the  cider  Miss  Cobb.  Upon  reflection,  it  is 
misleading;'  to  refer  to  this  young  lady  in  tern)s 
so  dry,  stiff,  and  denuded;  and  I  shall  drop 
into  Sylvia's  form,  and  call  her  simj^ly  Geor- 
giana.  That  looks  better  —  (ieorgiana  I  It 
sounds  well,  too  —  Georgiana  ! 

Georgiana,  then,  is  a  rather  elusive  character. 
The  more  I  see  of  her  the  less  I  understand 
her.  If  vour  nature  draws  near  hers,  it  retreats. 
If  you  pursue,  it  flies  —  a  little  frightened  jier- 
haps.  If  then  you  keeji  still  and  look  perfectly 
safe,  she  v/ill  return,  but  remain  at  a  fixed  dis- 
tance, like  a  bird  that  will  stay  in  your  yard, 
but  not  enter  your  house.  It  is  hardly  shyness, 
for  she  is  not  shy,  but  more  like  some  strain  of 

58 


wild  naturi.'  in  hci-  tiiat  refuses  to  be  donicsti- 
catcd.  One's  faith  is  strained  to  aeeept  S\l\ia's 
estimate  that  ( leoij^iana  is  deej)  —  she  is  so 
light,  so  airy,  so  plaNfnI.  Svhia  is  a  demure 
little  dove  that  has  ))ulled  over  ilseh'  an  owl's 
skin,  and  is  mueh  prouder  of  its  wieked  old 
feathers  than  of  its  innoient  heart;  hut  ( ieor- 
giana — what  is  she?  Seereth'  an  owl  with 
the  buoN'aney  of  a  humminj.'-l)ird ''  liowe\ei", 
it's  nothing  to  me.  She  hovers  around  her 
mother  and  Svlvla  with  a  fondness  that  is 
rather  beautiful.  I  did  not  mention  the  subject 
of  Audubon  and  her  father,  foi"  it  is  never  well 
to  let  an  elder  sister  know  that  a  xounger  one 
has  been  talking  about  her.  I  merelv  ga\e 
her  .several  chances  to  speak  of  birds,  but  she 
ignored  them.  As  for  me  and  my  lo\e  of  birds, 
such  trifles  are  beneath  her  notice.  I  don't  like 
her,  and  it  will  not  be  worth  while  to  call  again 
soon,  though  it  would  be  pleasant  to  see  those 
drawings. 

This  morning  as  I  was  accidentallv  passing 
under  her  window  1  saw  her  at  it  and  lifted  m\ 
hat.  She  leaned  over  with  her  cheek  in  her 
palm,  and  said,  smiling", 

"  \'ou  mustn't  s))oil  Sylvia!" 

"  What  is  my  definite  offence  in  that  regard  .'  " 

5() 


I. 


h 


:| 


A 


"  Too  much  arbour,  too  iiKun  tloucrs.  loo  huk  h 
fine  treatment."' 

"  Does  tine  treatment  ever  harm  anybody  ? 
Is  it  not   l)a(l  treatment  that   sjioils  people?  " 

"(iood  treatment  may  never  sj)oil  peoj^le  who 
are  old  enou<;h  to  know  its  rarity  and  valur. 
Hut  you  say  you  are  a  student  ol  nature  ;  ha\e 
vou  n(>t  observed  that  nature  never  lets  the 
su^ar  i;et  to  thiui^s  until  they  are  rij)e  ?  Chil- 
dren must  be  kept  tart." 

"The  next  time  that  Miss  Svlvia  comes  o\er, 
then,  I  am  lo  ;;i\e  her  a  tremendous  scolding; 
and  a  bi^  basket  of  i;reen  apjiles." 

"Or,  what  is  worse,  suppose  you  cncoura.<;e 
her  to  study  the  (ireatest  Common  Divisor?  I 
am  trying  to  get  her  ready  for  school  in  the  fall." 

"  Is  she  being  educated  for  a  teacher?" 

"You  know  that  Southern  ladies  never  teach." 

"Then  she  will  never  need  the  (ireatest  Com- 
mon Divisor.  I  have  known  many  thousands  of 
human  beings,  and  none  but  teachers  ever  has 
the  least  use  for  the  (Greatest  Common  Divisor." 

"  But  she  needs  to  do  things  that  she  dislikes. 
We  all  do." 

I  smiled  at  the  memory  of  a  self-willed  little 
bare  foot  on  a  log  years  ago. 

"  I  shall  see  that  my  grapi^  arbour  does  not 

60 


.^ 


VV 


urth 


cr    m 


tcrti-rc    with     Miss    S\l\ia's    |»rt)<;r 


CSS 


towards   i)ertci-lii)n." 

"  Why  didn't  you  wish   us  to  be  vour  neigh- 
bours ?  " 

"I  didn't  know  that  you  were  the  ri^ht  sort 
ot  people." 

"  Are  we  the  rij;hl  sort  ?  " 

"The    vahie    of    my    land    has    ahiiost    been 

doubled." 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  know  that  you  approve 
of  us  on  those  -rounds.  Will  the  value  of  our 
land  rise  also,  do  yiui  think  ^  And  why  do  you 
suppose  we  objeeted  to  you  as  a  neii^hbour .' " 

"  I  cannot  ima.Ljinc." 

"The  imai^ination  can  be  cultivated,  you 
know.  Then  tell  me  this  :  why  do  Kentuckians 
in  this  j)art  of  Kentucky  think  so  much  of  theni- 
seh  es  comi)ared  with  the  rest  of  the  world  .'  " 

"Perhaps  it's  becau.se  they  are  Virginians. 
There  may  be  various  reasons." 

"Do  the  peoi)le  ever  tell  what  the  reasons 
are  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  heard  one." 

''  And  if  we  stayed  here  Umy;  enou^t^l^^  and 
imitated  them  clo.sely,  do  )ou  suppose  we  would 
^et  to  feel  the  same  w^ay  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

6i 


"  II  niiisl  be  so  pleasant  to  ciinsidrr  KlmUucUv 
the  best  |)arl  ot  the  xsorld,  and  )()nr  ])art  of 
Kentnel<>'  tlie  best  of  the  State,  and  voin'  fainilv 
the  best  of  all  the  l)est  families  in  that  liest  pait, 
and  yourself  the  l)est  inend)er  of  \'our  faniilw 
()u_i;ht  not  tliat  to  make  one  |)erfecily  haj)|)\?" 
"  1  ha\  e  often  obseised  that  it  seems  to  do  so." 
"  It  is  delii'hifnl  to  remend)er  that  voii  ap- 
jirove  of  us.  And  we  should  tee'  so  L;lad  to  be 
a1)le  to  return  the  eompliment.      (iood-ln'c!  " 

An\'  one  would  ha\'e  to  acbnit,  however,  tliat 
thei-e  is  no  sharj)ness  in  ( ieoi"j;iana's  ))leasantr\'. 
The  child-nature  in  her  is  so  sunny,  s|)()rtivi;,  so 
bent  on  harmless  mischief.  She  still  pla\'s  with 
lift.'  as  a  kitten  with  a  ball  of  \arn.  Some  day 
Kitt\'  will  fall  aslee")  with  the  l^ali  poised  iu 
the  cup  of  one  foot.  Then,  waking,  when  her 
dream  is  over,  she  will  tind  that  her  plavthin<; 
has  become  a  rocky,  thorny,  storm-swept,  im- 
measurable world,  and  that  she,  a  woman,  stands 
holdini;  out  towards  it  her  imjiloring  arms,  and 
asking  only  fo:  some  littlest  part  in  its  infinite 
destinies. 


After  the  last  talk  with  deorgiana  I  felt  re- 

hos 
62 


newed   desire  to  see  those  Audubon   drawings. 


1 


i\ 


•Sn  ycsicniav  inornin-  I  sent   over  to  li.-r  s.,,,,.. 
thin-s  wriitcM  by  a  Xoithcni   inai,,  uh.m)   1  call 
the  y.uin-  Aiiiliilx.n  of  the  Maine  u-.hhIs.      His 
•>''mois  Henry  I ).  Thoreau,  and   it  is,  1    believe 
known. Milyt.,nieclnun  here,      l-veivthin-;  that 
1  ^-an  luui  „l  his  is  as  pure  and  eold  and   lonely 
as  a  uil.l  ee<lar  .,t    the  mountain  n.cks,  standin- 
far  above  it.s  smokeless  valley  and  hushed  white 
"vcr.      She    returned    them    to-dav,    with    word 
that  she  wnul.l  thank  me  in  person,  and  to-niuhi 
I  went  over  in  a  state  ot   rather  senseless  eai^vr- 
ness. 

ifer  mother  and  sister  had  -..ne  out.  and  she 
sat  on   the   dark    poreh    alone.     The   thin-s   of 
IHoreau's    have  interested    her.  and   she  asked 
nie  to  tell  her  all  I  knew  .f  him.  whieh  was  little 
enou.^^h.     Then  of  her  own  accord  she  be-an  to 
speak  of  her  father  and  Audubon  — of  the  one 
with  the  worship  of  love,  of  the  other  with  the 
worship  of  .<,n-eatness.      [   felt  as  thou-h  I  were 
in  a  moonlit  cathedral  ;   for  her  voice,  the  whole 
revelation  of  her  nature,  made  the  spot  so  im- 
pressive and  so  sacred.     She  scarcely  addressed 
me  ;  she  was  communing-  with  them.     Xothin- 
that    her    father    told    her    i-e-ardin-   Audubon 
appears  to  have  been   for-otten  ;   and,  brou-ht 
nearer  than  ever  before  to    that    lofty,  tireless 


I 


\*'t    ' 


/; 


"1^. 


;  'I 


spirit  in  its  \v;inderin;;s  tlir(»u,i;h  the  KcntiKk\ 
torcsts,  1  alinosl  l()i\:;()l  her  t(»  whom  I  was  Hs- 
tcnini(.  Hut  in  the  midst  ol  it  she  stopped,  and 
it  was  aL;aiii  kitten  and  \aiii.  I  lett  cpiite  as 
abruptly.  I'pon  inv  soul  I  beHeve  that  ( leorjji- 
ana  iloesn't  thiidx  me  wurth  lalkini;  to  ^eriousU. 


\ 


64 


a.  ' 


Rlv 


y 


■ 

i 


v» 


I 

(    . 


I 


'^- 


\'II 


I       Id; 


atTDss  a   wet  ticKI. 

'I'h^Tc      was      the       l-oiirlh. 
which    is  always   the    -r.iiulest 
occasion  of  the  year   with    us. 
Society    has   takt-n    up    S\l\i;L 
and    rejected    (ieor-iana;    and 
so    with     its     -reat    ^^allantr\. 
and   to   her   boundless  {ieHi;ht. 
Sylvia  was  invited  to  sit  with  a  hew  of  <;irls  in 
a  lari^e  furniture  wai^on  covered  with  flails  and 
K  05 


<i 


T 


''V,  ^i 


I 


\h 


liunliiiL;.  'I'lu-  L',ii  K  wnr  1m  lu'  diCN^cd  in  white, 
tariv  lldwcis  ami  lla-s.  and  siii.i;  "  1  lu-  Star 
S|)aii,L;lcd  lianiKT "  in  llu-  pi occssion,  ju>t  \)c- 
|(Mc  the  Iiie-enij,ine.  I  \\i(»le  a  imic  tit  ( leoi- 
.L;iana,  askin;.;'  whethei-  it  woidd  inteiieie  with 
S\l\  ia's  (  dealest  Coinnioii  Divisoi  ii  I  |)ieseiUed 
hrv  with  a  pidtusion  id  ele,:;ant  flowers  on  that 
(ticasion.  ( ii'oi',i;iana  heisell  had  e(|ui|)j)e(l  S\l 
\ia  with  a  tnd\  e\(|nisite  silken  llai;  on  a  sihei 
slaH  ;  and  as  S\d\  ia  l)olh  sani;  and  \\a\ed  with 
all  her  nn\-ht.  not  onlv  lo  keep  n|)  the  (Ireen 
Kiver  reputation  in  suth  matters.  Init  with  a 
media\al  iletermination  to  attract  a  Noniii;'  man 
on  the  lire-en.L;ine  bidiind,  she  (|uite  eclipsed 
e\'ei\'  other  miss  in  the  waj;on,  and  was  not 
e\en  hoaise  when  iJcrsuaded  at  last  to  stop.  So 
that  several  ot'  the  representatixes  ot"  the  other 
States  \oted  afterwards  in  a  s])ecial  con_<;iess 
that  she  was  loud,  and  in  no  \\a\'  as  nice  as 
iIk'\'  .ad  fancied,  and  that  they  ()Ui;ht  ne\er 
to  recoj;ni/.e  her  aL;"ain  except  in  church  and 
at    funerals. 

And  then  the  month  brought  down  from  West 
Point  the  son  i)i  the  famil)',  who  cut  o/f — or  cut 
(//  (leor;j,iana"s  toes,  1  remember.  With  iiim 
a  soil  of  cousin,  who  lives  in  New  \  ork  State; 
and    alter   a    few    dass    (/f    toitloftical    struttiiii.!," 

66 


fi 


,t 


K 


li 


IK 


I        '  1 


*[ 
f 


ion  nil  h  ,\i     -I  uriTiNt; 


'V 


I 


•f, 


I)  f^'. 


h , 


:: 


^ 


nrounrl  town,  ;ind  a  pusilhinimous  crack  or  two 
o\cr  the  hacl<-,<;ar(lcn  tcncc  at  v.\\-  birds,  they 
went  away  again,  to  the  home  ol  this  New  \'ork 
cousin,  carrying  (ieorgiana  with  them  to  sptMid 
the  summer. 

Nothing  has  hapjK'ued  since.  On!v  Svlvia 
and  f  have  been  making  hay  while  the  sun 
shines  —  or  does  not  shine,  if  one  chooses  to 
regard  (ieorgiana's  al)sence  in  that  cloud  v 
fashion.  SvKia's  ordinar\'  armour  consists  of  a 
shite-pcncil  for  a  spear,  a  ;Uite  for  a  shield,  and 
a  \()lume  of  .Sir  Walter  for  a  bludgeon.  Now 
and  then  1  have  found  her  sitting  alone  in  the 
arbour  with  the  drooping  air  of  Lucy  Ashton 
bjside  the  fountain  ;  aiul  she  would  be  better 
pleased  if  I  met  her  clandestine! v  then'  in 
cloak  and  plume  with  the  deadh'  c()m])le.\ion 
ot    Kavenswood. 

The  other  da\-  I  caught  her  toiling  at  some- 
thing, and  she  admitted  being  at  work  on  a  i)oen> 
which  would  be  aboui  half  as  long  as  the  "  La\ 
of  the  Last  Minstrel."  She  read  me  the  o|)en- 
ing  lines,  after  that  bland  habit  of  voung  writ- 
ers ;  and  as  uearU'  as  1  recollect,  thev  began  as 
follows  : 

"  I  Io\i'  to  St  f  yartli-iis  iiml  arlMnirs  .uid  pl.iiUs: 


Idvr  tin-  liiK'  WW 


hut 


not  m\   tiiir  .Hints. 


Hii 


6S 


\\  ^ 


li 


When  not  under  the  spell  of  mediaeval  chiv- 
alry she  prattles  needlessly  ol  ( ieor-iana.  early 
life,  and  their  old  hoim-  in  Henderson.  A'- 
thoui^h  I  have  j)ointed  out  to  her  the  .L;ross 
impropriety  of  her  conduct,  she  has  persisted 
in  readini;-  me  some  ol  ( ".eor-iana"s  letters 
written  from  the  home  of  that  \eu  N'ork  cdusin. 
whose  mother  they  are  now  \isitin^.  I  didnl 
like  //////  particularly.  SyKia  relates  that  he 
was  a  favourite  of  her  father's. 

The  dull  month  passes  to-dav.  (  )ne  thin.u^  ^ 
have  secretly  wished  to  learn  :  did  her  brother 
cut  (ieorgiana's  toes  entirelv  otf  ? 


t 


f 


6() 


t1 


h 


VI  ^. 


/ 


i 


! 


. — .  -^ 


^■'•J 


■A, . 
'v ' 


V.I' 


jyZ  ■        ■■'■   "■'"."•-  -»v.      ,        ■        .'.    S..1   ;'      1"' 


n"         .fit  wi  -x  '   •^■^\\) 


f 


ii'V 


.  ^,'.1  V 


I  '  * 


\  /  -/ 


/■ 


'-  f 


^ 


VIII 


3 


3 


)n  AUGrST  the  pale  and 
,;A.  delicate  i)oetry  of  the 
J  Kentucky  land  makes 
itself  telt  as  silence  and 
repose.  Still  skies,  still 
woods,  still  sheets  of 
forest  water,  still  flocks 
and  lierds,  lonj;-  lanes  winding;-  without  the  sound 
of  a  traveller  throu-'h  fields  of  the  universal 
brooding-  stillness.  'i'he  sun  no  lonoer  bhi/,- 
ini;-,  but  muffled   in   a  veil   of   i)alest  blue.      No 


■Tr 


.S. 


more    black    cl„uci,s    rumhlin,:;-    and    rushing-   „,, 
Irom   the  h„ri/.„n.  but  a  sin-le  u-hite  one  brush- 
in.i;  slowly  ao-ainst  the  zenith   Hke  the  lost  win- 
ot  a  swan.      Far  beneath   it  the  silver-breasted 
l^awk,   usino-    the    eloud    as    his    lordlv  parasol 
II10    ea-erness    of    sprin-    ^^one.    now    all    but 
nuredible    as    havin,:;-    ever    existed;    the    birds 
linshed   and   hiding";    the  bee,  so  nimble    once, 
l^illcn    asleep   over    his   own   eider-press  in    the' 
shadow  of  the  golden  apple.      I-'n.m  the  depths 
ot  the  woods  may  come  the  notes  of  the  euekoo  • 
but  they  strike  the  air  more  and   more  slowlv" 
l'I<c   the  clack^  clack,  clack   of    a   distant   wheel 
that  IS  bein-    stopped  at  the  clo.se  of    harvest 
Ihe  whirrino-  win^s  of  the  locust  let  themselves 
.t;o  m   o,ie  Ion-  wave  of  sound,  pa.ssin-  i„to  si- 
1^'nce.      All  nature  is  a  vast  .sacred  -oblet.  .illin'- 
cln.p  by  drop  to  the  brim,  and  not  to  be  shaken'^ 
Hut  the  .stalks  of  the  later  flowers  be-in  t(,  be 
stuffed  with  hurryin-  bh.om  lest  thev  be  too  late  • 
and  the  ni-hthawk   ra,)idlv  mounts'his  stairway 
ot   flight  hi-her  and   hi-her.  hi-her  and  hi<-her 
as  thouo-h  he  would   ri.se  above  the  warm  white 
sea  of  atmosphere  and  breathe  in  cold  ether. 

Always  in  Au-u..i    mv  nature  will  -0  its  „wn 
^vayand   seek   its  own    peace.      I  n.am  .solitarv 
"nt  never  alone,    over  this    rich   pa.storal   land. 


|.j 


i  — 


V,  ^;^ 


/ 


\^'. 


crossing;  farm  .iffcr  tarm.  atui  keeping,"  as  host  I 
can  out  ot  si,:;hl  ot  the  lahourin,^'  or  loiti'iin.:;' 
negroes.  P'or  the  si.y;ht  of  them  ruins  evei"\' 
landscape,  aiul  I  shall  never  teel  mysell  tree 
till  they  are  f;()ne.  What  it  they  sin-;?  The 
more  is  the  pity  that  any  human  bcin^"  could 
be  hai)py  encnigh  to  sing  so  long  as  he  was  ;i 
slave  in  any  thought  or  tihre  ot"  his  nattu'e. 

.Sometimes  it  is  through  the  aftermath  of  fat 
wheat-fields,  where  float  like  myriad  little  nets 
of  silver  gauze  the  webs  of  the  craftv  weavers, 
and  where  a  whole  world  of  winged  small  folk 
flit  from  tree-to|)  to  tree-top  of  the  low  weeds. 
They  are  all  mine  —  these  Kentuckv  wheat- 
fields.  Aftei'  the  owner  has  taken  from  them 
his  last  sheaf  I  come  in  and  gather  m\-  harvest 
also  -one  that  he  did  not  see,  and  doubtless 
would  not  begrudge  me  —  the  harvest  of  beautv. 
Or  I  walk  beside  tufted  aromatic  hernjvfields. 
as  along  the  shores  of  softh'  foaming  emerald 
seas;  or  past  the  lank  and  hie  of  tields  of 
Indian-corn,  which  stand  like  armies  that  hatl 
gotten  readv  to  march,  but  been  kept  'vaiting 
for  further  orders,  until  at  last  the  soldiers  had 
grown  tiretl.  as  the  ga\est  will,  ot  tiieir  xeliow 
plunu's  and  green  libbons,  and  let  their  Ml; 
hands   fall    hea\ii\   down   at    their  sides.       I'here 


:^ 


% 


th--«hi.eand  ,hc  pu,  ,,1.  „„„-ni„..,.|,„ics  h.nff 
thnr  i„„.  fest„,„,s  :„„i  „,„,„  ,„  „,,.  ^,„j    ,_^.^|_ 

"'«"'  """Is  their  uifi,,  trumpcis. 

This  year    us    „ovcr  holore   I    have    |ol,    ,h,. 
IK-Huty  of  the  world.     A„<l  uith  the  new  hrLi,,- 
ness  ,„  which  every  o„n,„on    Mene    ha.s  ireen 
^.pparelled  there  has  stirred  within  n,e  .  need 
"f  human  rompanionship  unknown  in  the  pns, 
It  's  as  ,1  Nature  had  spread  out  her  last  ioveli- 
ncss  and  said:  "See!     y„u    have    before    vou 
now  all  that  you  can  ever  .-et  Iron,  me  I     ft  is 
not  enough.      Realize  this  in  time,      r  an,  vour 
brother.     Love  n,e  as  a  chikl.      Hnt  remen,l,er ' 

suc^h  love  can  be  only  a  little  pa,t  ol  vour  life- 
Therefore   I   1  ave    spent  the   month   lestless 
"n  the  eve  of  ehan«e.  dn.wn  to   Nature,  driven' 
•'■'""   ^"-      '"    ■Sq'l^-'inber  it  «i||    be  diflcvn, 
'"'■  "'"'  '^"■'--  ^"■--    ">■"■•-■  thing's  to    do    on    n,^■ 
small  ta,m,  an.l  I  see  people  on  account  of  n,, 
Krapes  and  pears.      .My  ,„,,,,,!,.  ,„;,  ,\„„.,„i  „^,., 

been  an  idle  mind  — so  -(lie  th  ,t  •,  I  .tt  ,    , 

oie   mat  a  letter  lion, 

(.eorguma    sccns    its   main    event.       This    wis 
written  from  the  old  home  of  Audubon  on  the 
Hudson,  whither    they  had    gone    sight-seein- 
it   nu.st   have  been  to   her  much   like  a  pil.-nn"i 
a;;e  to  a  shrme.      She  wrote  intormnllv,  telHn^. 
n>o  about    the    plaee   .nd    enclosing  a  's^u-v^    ^?^ 


1 
I 


n 


I!!  N;j 


I 


■■■■■  7.'/A,i     Jmm:^AnM-::^Tm. 


\  A  #^4. '^-•:-v- u.iiyH 


,1, , 


r^ 


I  ski:  I'i< M'I.i:  dn  aimmm   m    m\'  t;K.\i'i:s  and  n  au>. 


i. 


n 


''.''",'■  "■"'"  """"   <!'>-■  ir.vsi,,  ,1,0  v:M,i,      IK.,. 
""'"I  «as  evi,lc.„,i.v  .n.c,-,l.,ui„,  „„   „,,  „,|,;,„ 
t  was  ,.„,|„.,.    ,,1,,,.,,^    ,„    1,^,^.^,    ,,^^,    ^^J^^^^ 

""■''"I  "•>•  w:.y.      1  shMli  ,.l;„„  „,,  ,,,,,,  „,,^.,.^. 
It  w,ll  stay  always  -,x.ei,. 

I  -aw  (;o,„-ia„a  o„c,.  ,„„,,,  i,,,,,,.^,  |,^.,.  |^,^^^. 
'"";       "'^'  """''l^'"    ^'Pl>ea,.„,c>.    „l    he-  1„.,„|,,, 

^'";";".^i".a,„l,l,e„ous,ha,sl,c«.,uld,x.„„„ 
""'  'I'-'"  I'M-  ,1,0  su„„„o,..  s|„„-,e,l  ,„o  „,,  ,„ 
>"^'kc  a„„tho,-  a,to„,|,tat  ihoso  .\,„l„i,„„  ,!,,„. 


]n,<;s 


ll'Hvcasyituas  to  o-et  the,,,!     I,   is  what  a 

'T"  ?,""''*  '■'  "'■"'""  "■"'  ''^'  "illm.^-  tn  d„  ,|,a, 
s  ,e  sold,,,,,  d„o.s.      ]i„t  ,sho  ,„a,io  a  c„„lossi„„ 
\   !>-.    she   ,i,.H,    |,„„„,    t|,,j  ,   ^^.^,^   ^^    ^_^^^^||.^^_ 

^-  >i<  e„t  ,„^  bi,ds,  sl,o   fea,.ed    I   wo„l.i    „.„    ,i|,o 
.\ml„  „,„,  sinoe    „,o„    s„  o,te„    s„ee,-  at    th„se 
"'^"  'I"  '"  ■■'  Ki-and  way  what  thev  ea„  <l„  „„|v 
;,'   '■'  l;-""-   ""e.      I    had    a„„the,.',.ovek,ti„„    „l 
<.0"s'.ana's    ,n.„.o    se,i„„s     „at,„e.     which     is 
;'l>^ays  a,-„„sed   hy  the  „,e„„„-v  „l   |,e,.  fathe,- 
he,o  ,s  so„,ethi„.-  beautif,,!  a„d  steadfast  i„ 
tins  K,.-rs  s„„!.     In  cm,.  he,„ispho,.o  vines  eN„,l, 
.■min.1  f,„,„  loft  to  ,.i,d,t;    if    (ieo,Kia„a    love.l 
yon  she  wonki,  i,   |,i,|,,o„.  ,o,e,.se  ovo,y  law  of 

iK-i- na„„-e  fo,.  yo„  as  c»„,,,leteh  as  a  vine  that 
yon  had  caused  to  twine  f,-,,,,,  ligiit  to  left. 

75 


n. 


I 


Sylvia  enters  .sch(»i)l  the  ist  ol  SejJtember, 
and  (jeori^iana  is  to  he  at  h(»iiie  then  to  see  to 
that.  How  surely  she  ihi\es  this  ianiily  betorc 
her  —  and  with  as  <;entle  a  touch  as  that  of  a 
slow  soutli  wind  ujton  the  clouds. 

Those  j)oor  tirsl  ilrawin_i;s  ot  Audubon  !  He 
succeeded  ;  we  stud\  his  earl)'  lailint;s.  'V\\c 
world  never  studies  the  lailures  ol  those  who 
do  not  succeed  in   the  c\u\. 

The  birds  are  nioultin;;.  It  man  coidd  only 
moult  also  -  his  mind  once  a  \ear  its  errors, 
his  heart  once  a  \ear  its  useless  passions!  Ilo\v 
line  we  should  all  look  it'  every  Auj^ust  the  old 
plumage  ot  our  natures  would  droj)  out  and  be 
blown  away,  and  fresh  quills  take  the  vacant 
l)laces!  hut  we  have  one  .set  of  feathers  to 
last  us  throu.L;h  our  three-score  years  and  ten  — 
one  set  of  spotless  feathers,  which  we  are  toh' 
to  keep'  sj)otless  throui^h  all  our  lives  in  a  dirtv 
world.  If  one  i^ets  broken,  broken  it  stays  ; 
if  one  j;ets  blackened,  nothing-  will  cleanse  it. 
\o  doubt  we  shall  all  Hy  home  at  last,  like  a 
flock  of  pigeons  that  were  once  turned  loose 
snow-white  from  the  sky,  and  made  to  descend 
and  fight  one  another  and  fight  everything  else 
for  a  poor  living  amid  soot  and  mire.  If  then 
the   hand   of   the   unseen    Fancier    is    stretched 

7^ 


how 


'"'■''^  t(,  draw  us  in.  n.nv  can  he  possibJv 
snnto  any  one  ol  u>.  or  casi  ns  awav.  hecaus; 
^ve  come  baek  t„  hin,  black  and  'bhic  with 
'"'uses,  and  besn.udj^ed  and  bcdrag-led 
recognition  I 


past 


f 


i/ 


I  \ 


h 


' :' '^  \^" '"^'^^^^K  -^fk^'-^ ^m^'- ^?-^ ^' < ■•  ' 


IX 


I 


'p==^ 


0-l)A\'.  Ihc  7th  of 
SeptcnilxT,  1  made  a 
(lisc()\ci"v.  The  i)air 
ol'  rod  -  l)ir(ls  that 
l)uill  ill  my  ccdai- 
trocs  last  Avintcr  L;<)t 
duh'  a\va\'  with  the 
brood.  Several  times 
dmiiii;  summer  ram- 
bles I  east  my  eye 
al)out,  but  they  were  not  to  he  seen.  luirly 
this  atternoou  I  struek  out  aeross  the  eountry 
towards  a  sink-hole  in  a  field  two  miles  awa\', 
some  titt\'  xards  in  diameter,  \cvv  deej),  and 
enelosed  by  a  fence.  .V  series  of  these  cii- 
I  ular  basins,  at  rej;"ular  intei'\als  ;ipart,  runs 
;icioss   the   eountry  o\'ei-   thei'e,   sui;-i;estini;'  the 


X 


b\  1, 


remains  u(  aiu-iciit  cartli-u,  rks.  The  bottom 
had  (In.piK'd  out  of  this  on-,  probably  c-omniii- 
nicalin-  v.iih  the  many  cave.,  that  are  charac-- 
teristif  of  this  l)hie  linu-stoiu.-. 

Within  the  leiue  everything  is  an  impene- 
trable thieket  ot  weeds  and  vines -- blackberry, 
thistle,  ironueed.  pokeweed,  elder,  -olden-rod.' 
As  I  drew  near,  I  saw  two  or  three  birds  dive 
down,  with  the  shy  way  they  have  at  this  season; 
aiul  when  I  came  to  the  ed-e,  everything  ,vas 
quiet.  15ut  I  threw  a  stone  at  a  point  where 
the  tan-Ie  was  deep,  and  there  was  a  -reat 
Hutterin*;-  and  scatt 
th 


erm--of  (he  pretenders.     And 


en  occm-red  more  than  I  had  looked  tor.    '11 
stone   had   hardly  struck   the  brush   when   ul 
looked  like  a  ton-ue  of  vermilion   flame  leaped 


le 


Kit 


torth  near  by,  and,  dart 
out  (;f  si-ht  in  the  i;reen 
slope.     A  male  and  a   femal 


li;'  across,  struck  itself 
vines  on   the  opposite 


also,    balancin-;    them.selv 


es 


bJackberrv,  and    utter 


eardinal  flew  up 
on    sprays    of    the 


m,-;    excitedly  their   quick 


call-notes.    I  whistleil  to  the  male  as  I  had  b 
used,  and   he  reco^i;nized  me  bv  shooti 


een 


crest,  and   hoppinij  to  n 
inquiry.     All  at  once,  as  if 


Hi;'  up  his 
earer  twi-s  with  louder 


hi 


n 


an  idea  had  ur^ed 
,    he   spran*,^   across  to   the  sj)ot   where  the 

isappeared.     1  could 


first  lri«;htened   male  had  d 

79 


I. 


I- 

'f  'I 


i  . 


WELCOMED   HER   (JAYEY, 


cSo 


y 


snll  hear  h„„  under  the  VTnos.:uul   presently  he 
'•cappoared    .M„l  Hou   up  int.,  a  l.u  ...t-tree  on  t  he 
'•"•tH'-red.eot  the  basin,  tollouvdhv  the  other 
What  had  taken  plaee  or  took  plaee  then    I   do 
•i"t   know;  but    I    wished   he   nii^ht    be   sayin..- • 
"  My  son,  that    man   over  there  is  the  one'  who 
u'as  very  -ood  to  your  mother  and   me  h.st  win- 
ter.  and   who  owns  the  tree  you  were  born   in 
have    warned   yot,.   of  eourse.   never   to   trust 
Man;   but  I  would  advise  you.  when   vou   have 

ound  your  sweetheart,  to  ^ive  him   a  trial,  and 
take  her  to  liis  cedar-trees." 

If  he  said  anythin,^^  like  this,  it  eertainly 
h'-^cl  a  terrible  cffeet  on  the  son  ;  for.  havinc; 
";"^>'Ued  rapidly  to  the  tree-top.  he  elove  the 
blue  with  his  scarlet  win^s  as  though  he  were 
^ynv^  from  death.  I  lost  si^^^m  of  him  over 
a  Corn-field. 

One  fact  ,)lea.secl  me  :  the  father  ,ett,rne<l  to 
his  partner  under  the  briers,  for  he  is  not  „f  the 
'""•or   sort   ul,o    for^fot    the    n,otl,er  when    the 
children  are  reared.     They  hold    faithfullv  to- 
Kuther  during  the  ever  more  silent,  ever  n,ore 
shadowy  autumn  days;  his  warn,in,.  breast  is 
closx-  to  hers  through  frozen  winter  nights:  and 
■they  both  live  to  see  another  May  she  is  still 
all  the  world  to   him,  and  wue  to  any  brilliant 
^  8i 


f/ 


f 


/ 


vagabond  who  should  warble  a  wanton  love-sonj^ 
under  her  holy  windows. 

Gcorgiana  returned  the  last  of  August.  The 
next  morning  she  was  at  her  window,  looking 
across  into  my  yard.  I  vvas  obliged  to  pass  that 
way,  and  welcomed  her  gayly,  expressing  my 
thanks  for  the  letter. 

"  I  had  to  come  back,  you  see,"  she  said,  with 
calm  simplicity.  I  lingered  awkwardly,  strip- 
ping upward  the  stalks  of  some  weeds. 

"Very  few  Kentucky  birds  are  migratory," 
I  replied  at  length,  with  desperate  brilliancy  and 
an  overwhelming  grimace. 

"I  shall  go  back  some  time  —  to  stay,"  she 
said,  and  turned  away  with  a  parting  faintest 
smile. 

Is  that  West  Point  brother  giving  trouble .' 
If  so,  the  sooner  a  war  breaks  out  and  he  gets 
killed,  the  better.  One  thing  is  certain :  if,  for 
the  next  month,  fruit  and  flowers  will  give  Geor- 
giana  any  pleasure,  she  shall  have  a  good  deal 
of  pleasure.  She  is  so  changed !  But  why 
need  I  take  on  about  it.-* 

They  have  been  cleaning  out  a  drain  under 
the  streets  along  the  Town  Fork  of  Elkhorn, 
and  several  people  are  down  with  fever. 


S2 


]A\ -YEAR'S  iii-ht  a<i;^m,  and 
bittci-  cold 

When     I    toiccd    myself 
ci\\ay  hoiu   my   fire  before 
dark,  and  ran  down  to  the 
|;;'       stable    to    see   about    feed- 
in--  and  beddin<-  the  horses 


II 


't 


I    V 


anci  cows,  every  beast  had  its  head  drawn  in 
towards  its  shoulders,  and  looked  at  me  with 
the  dismal  air  of  sayint;,  "  Who  is  tempering 
the  wind  now?"  The  doi^s  in  the  kennel,  with 
their  noses  between  their  hind-le^s,  were  shiver- 
ing under  their  blankets  and  straw  like  a  nest 
of  chilled  young  birds.  The  fowls  on  the  roost 
were  mere  white  and  blue  puffs  of  feathers. 
Nature  alone  has  the  keeping  of  her  creatures; 
why  doesn't  she  make  them  comfortable.'^ 

After  su]")per  old  Jack  and  Dilsy  came  in,  and 
standing  against  the  wall  with  their  arms  folded, 
told  me  more  of  what  hajijiened  after  I  got 
sick.  That  was  about  the  middle  of  September, 
and  it  is  only  two  weeks  since  I  became  well 
enough  to  g(^  in  and  out  through  all  sorts  of 
weather. 

It  was  the  middle  of  September  then,  my  ser- 
vants said,  and  as  within  a  week  after  taking 
the  fever  I  was  very  ill,  a  great  many  people 
came  out  to  inquire  lor  me.  Some  of  these, 
walking  around  the  garden,  declared  it  was  a 
pity  for  such  fruit  and  flowers  to  be  wasted,  and 
so  heljied  themselves  freely  e\ery  time.  The 
old  doctor,  who  always  fears  for  i.iy  health  at 
this  season,  stopped  by  nearly  every  day  to 
repeat    how    he    had    warned    me,    and    always 

84 


.^      i 


\    \ 


-^ 


^) 


<f.-  ^^i 


V. 

V 


KNOCKED    REPROACHFULLY. 


85 


w. 


;  ^■■ 


If     ) 


W 


» 1 


11] 


walked  back  to  his  gig  in  a  roundabout  way, 
which  required  him  to  pass  a  favourite  tree  ;  and 
once  he  was  so  indignant  to  find  several  other 
persons  gathered  there,  and  mournfully  enjoy- 
ing the  last  of  the  fruit  as  they  predicted  I 
would  never  get  well,  that  he  came  back  to  the 
house  —  with  two  pears  in  each  duster  pocket 
and  one  in  his  mouth  —  and  told  Jack  it  was  an 
outrage.  The  preacher,  likewise,  who  appears 
in  the  spring-time,  one  afternoon  knocked  re- 
proachfully at  the  front  door  and  inquired 
whether  I  was  in  a  condition  to  be  reasoned 
with.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  nice  little  work- 
basket,  which  may  have  been  brought  along  to 
catch  his  prayers ;  but  he  took  it  home  piled 
with  grapes. 

And  then  they  told  me,  also,  how  many  a 
good  and  kind  soul  came  with  hushed  footsteps 
and  low  inquiries,  turning  away  sometimes  with 
brightened  faces,  sometimes  with  rising  tears  — 
often  people  whom  I  had  done  no  kindness  or 
whom  I  did  not  know ;  how  others  whom  I  had 
quarrelled  with  or  did  not  like,  forgot  the  poor 
puny  quarrels  and  the  dislike,  and  begged  to  do 
for  me  whatever  they  could ;  how  friends  went 
softly  around  the  garden,  caring  for  a  flower, 
putting  a  prop  under  a  too-heavily  laden  limb, 

86 


IsX    \ 


''^ 


rrriiN,;  a  i-koi-  i m.kk  a  Tn,,.,n..Avii  v  i.w.k.n  i.imh. 


«; 


s 


I 


it 
1 


or  climbing  on  step-ladders  to  tic  sacks  around 
tiie  finest  bunches  of  grapes,  with  the  hope  that 
I  might  be  well  in  time  to  eat  them  —  touching 
nothing  themselves,  having  no  heart  to  eat ; 
how  dear,  dear  ones  would  never  leave  me  day 
or  night ;  how  a  good  doctor  wore  himself  out 
with  watching,  and  a  good  pastor  sent  up  for 
me  his  spotless  prayers ;  and  at  last,  when  I 
began  to  mend,  how  from  far  and  near  tliere 
poured  in  flowers  and  jellies  and  wines,  until, 
had  I  been  the  multitude  by  the  Sea  of  Galilee, 
there  must  have  been  baskets  to  spare.  God 
bless  them  !  God  bless  them  all !  And  God 
forgive  us  all  the  blindness,  the  weakness,  and 
the  cruelty  with  which  v.e  judge  each  other 
when  we  are  in  health. 

This  and  more  ray  beloved  old  negroes  told 
me  a  few  hours  ago,  as  I  sat  in  deep  comfort 
and  bright  health  again  before  my  blazing  hick- 
ories ;  and  one  moment  we  were  in  laughter  and 
the  next  in  tears  —  as  is  the  strange  life  we  live. 
This  is  a  gay  household  now,  and  Dilsy  cannot 
face  me  without  a  fleshy  earthquake  of  laughter 
that  f  have  become  such  a  high-tempered  tiger 
about  punctual  meals. 

In  particular,  my  two  nearest  neighbours  were 
much  at  odds  as  to  which  had  better  claim  to 

88 


^       -7-? 


^  'C^ 


,,  1...  V  ■'•''*  '     ^■    "      • 


I? 


■='.1 


^-ri^-. 


fmmmc 


THRUST    MRS.    (  1  iHm   <  HT   oK   THK    HolSE. 
89 


P; 


' ). 


nnrsc  mc  ;  so  that  one  dnv  Mrs.  Walters,  able 
to  endure  it  no  Ionf:^er,  thrust  Mrs.  Cobb  out  of 
the  house  by  the  shoulder-blades,  locked  the  door 
on  her,  and  then  opened  the  shutters  and  scolded 
her  out  of  the  window. 

(Ine  thin<;  I  miss.  Mv  servants  have  never 
called  the  name  of  Georf^iana.  The  omission  is 
unnatural,  and  must  be  intentional.  Of  course 
I  have  not  asked  whether  she  showed  any  con- 
cern ;  but  that  little  spot  of  silence  affects  me 
as  the  sififht  of  a  tree  remaining  leafless  in  the 
woods  where  everything  else  is  turning  green. 


j'l^- 


99 


\ 


)0-l)AV  I  was  stunding  at 
a  window,  looking  out  at 
_  ,^,    .-         .  -*3    the  a<^cd  row  of  cedars, 
^'a--/-s^.v^       K^-    now    laden    with     snow, 
\/^^-'.^^'/."^       iiiitl  thinking;  of  Horace 
v>  ..v-r,^       and    Soracte.       Suddenly, 
'^^       '  ])eneath  a  juttinu^  pinnacle 

91 


.». 


I 


1  v' 


\M 


t     I 


of  white  boughs  which  Ictt  under  themselves 
one  Httle  sjiot  ot  ^reen,  I  slivv  a  cardinal  hop 
out  and  sit  full-breasted  towards  me.  The  idea 
Hashed  throu^di  my  mind  that  this  mi^ht  be 
that  shyest,  most  beautiful  fellow  whom  I  had 
found  in  Sej^tember,  and  whom  1  t^ricd  to  make 
out  as  the  son  of  my  last  winter's  pensioner. 
At  lea.st  he  has  never  lived  in  my  yard  be- 
fore ;  for  when,  to  test  his  shyness,  I  started 
to  raise  the  window-sash,  at  the  first  noise  of 
it  he  was  i;one.  My  birds  arc  not  so  afraid 
of  me.  I  must  <^et  on  better  terms  with  this 
stran^^er. 

Mrs.  Walters  over  for  a  while  afterwards.  I 
told  her  of  my  fancy  that  this  bird  was  one  of 
last  summer's  brood,  and  that  he  ajij^eared  a 
trifle  larger  than  any  male  I  had  ever  seen. 
She  said  of  course.  Had  I  not  fed  the  parents 
all  last  winter  ?  When  she  fed  her  hens,  did 
they  not  lay  bigj^er  eggs  ?  Did  not  bigger  eggs 
contain  bigger  chicks  ?  Did  not  bigger  chicks 
become  bigger  hens,  again  .-^  According  to  Mrs. 
Walters,  a  single  winter's  feeding  of  hot  corn- 
meal,  scraps  of  bacon,  and  pods  of  red  pepper 
will  all  but  bring  about  a  variation  of  species; 
and  so  if  the  assumed  rate  at  which  I  am  now 
going  were  kept  up  a  hundred  years,  my  cedar- 

92 


I 


■\r 


WHtN    bHK    KtU    111;k    HKNS, 


!;• 


i'*i 

'M 


1^ 


M 


93 


(I 


fU      i 


trees  mi^ht  be  lull  of  ;i  i;icf  of  red-birds  as  lar^e 
and  as  fat  as  ^ccsc. 

Standin^^  towrrds  sundown  at  another  win- 
dow, I  saw  Geor^iana  sevviu}^  at  hers,  as  I  have 
seen  her  every  day  since  I  j;ot  out  of  bed.  Why 
should  she  sew  so  much  ?  There  is  a  servant 
also  ;  and  they  sew,  sew,  sew,  as  if  eternal  sew- 
ing were  eternal  happiness,  eternal  salvation. 
The  first  day  she  spran^^  up,  lettinj;  her  work 
roll  off  her  laj),  and  waved  her  handkerchief 
inside  the  panes,  and  smiled  with  what  looked 
to  me  like  radiant  pleasure  that  I  was  well 
a<^ain.  I  was  weak  and  began  to  tremble,  and, 
going  back  to  the  fireside,  lay  back  in  my  chair 
with  a  beating  of  the  heart  that  was  a  warning. 
Since  then  she  has  recognized  me  only  by  a 
quiet,  kindly  smile.  Why  has  no  one  ever 
called  her  name  ?  I  believe  Mrs.  Walters 
knows.  She  comes  nowadays  as  if  to  tell  me 
something,  and  goes  away  with  a  struggle 
that  she  has  not  told  it.  But  a  secret  can 
no  more  stay  in  the  depths  of  Mrs.  Walters's 
mind  than  cork  at  the  bottom  of  water ;  some 
day  I  shall  see  this  mystery  riding  on  the 
surface. 


94 


hi  '■ 


A.— 


n  ■mnpHfmmmmm 


f" 


\H 


y. 


w 

^ 


r      I 


n 

rj 


M 


;^ 


-1 


Ct 


There  was  one  qi.estion  which  I  put  severely  to 
Mrs.  Walters:  Mad  she  told  Geor^iana  of  my 
foolish  talk  ?  She  shoo;-  her  head  violently, 
and  pressed  her  lij)s  closely  to<^ether,  suggest- 
ing how  inipossihie  it  would  be  for  the  smallest 
monosyllable  in  the  kiaguage  to  escape  by  that 
channel;  but  she  kept  her  eyes  wide  open,  and 
the  truth  issued  from  them,  as  smoke  in  a  hol- 
low tree,  if  stopped  in  at  a  lower  hole,  simply 
rises  and  comes  out  at  a  higher  one.  "  ^'ou 
should  have  shut  your  eyes  also,"  I  said. 
"  You  have  told  her  every  word  of  it,  and  the 
Lord  only  knows  how  much  more." 

This  February  has  let  loose  its  whole  pack  of 
grizzly  sky-hounds.  Unbroken  severe  weather. 
Health  has  not  returned  as  rapidly  as  was 
promised,  and  I  have  not  ventured  outside  the 
yard.  But  it  is  a  pleasure  to  chronicle  the 
beginning  of  an  acquaintanceship  between  his 
proud  eminence  the  young  cardinal  and  myself. 
For  a  long  time  he  would  have  naught  to  do 
with  me,  fled  as  I  approached,  abandoned  the 
evergreens  altogether  and  sat  on  the  naked 
tree-tops,  as  much  as  threatening  to  quit  the 
place  altogether  if  I  did  not  leave  him  in  peace. 
Surely  he  is  the  shyest  of  his  kind,  and  to  my 
fancy,  the  most  beautiful  ;    and  therefore   Na- 

96 


ture  seems  to  have  stored  him  with  extra  cau- 
tion towards  his  arch-enemy. 

l^iit    in    the    old    human    way    I    have    tai<en 
advanta-e  of  his  necessities.      The  north   wind 
has  heen  my  friend  a-ainst  him.      I  have  called 
in   the  aid  of   sleets  and  snows,   have  hesie-'d 
h\m   in    his   white   ca.stle   hehind    the    -litterin- 
array  of  his  icicles  with  threats  of    starva.tion^ 
So  one  day,  dropping  like  a  -lowin-  coal  d„wn 
amon-  the  other  hirds,  he  snatched  a  des,)erate 
hasty   meal   from    the    puhlic   poor-hou.sc    tahle 
that  I   had  spread  under  the  trees. 

It  is  the  hrst  surrender  that  decides.     Since 
then  .some  pro-re.ss  has  been  made  in  winnin- 
his  confidence,  but  the  stru-le  ,^M,in^r  on  in  his 
nature  is  plain  enou-h  still.     At  times  he  will 
rush  away  from  me  in  utter  terror;    at  others 
he  lets  me  draw  a  little  nearer,  without  movin- 
trom  a  limb;  and  now,  after  a  month  of  pcrsua"- 
sion,  he  be-ins  to  discredit  the  experience  which 
he  has  inherited  from  centuries  upon  centuries 
of   ancestors.      In  all  that   1   have  done   1   have 
tried  to  .say  to  him:  "  Don't  jud^^e  me  by  man- 
kmd    in    i^^eneral.     With    me   vou  are    safe       I 
I)led-e    myself    to    defend    you    from    enemies, 
hii^h  and   low." 

This   has  not  escajK^l  the  notice  of   (ieor-i- 


i 


'i 


Ki 


H 


97 


ana  at  the  window,  and  more  than  once  she  has 
let  her  work  droj)  to  watch  my  patient  progress 
and  to  bestow  upon  me  a  rewarding  smile.  Is 
there  nearly  always  sddness  in  it,  or  is  the 
sadness  in  my  eyes?  It"  Georgiana's  brother  is 
giving  her  trouble,  I'd  like  to  take  a  hand-axe 
to  /lis  feet.  I  suppose  I  shall  never  know 
whether  he  cut  her  foot  in  two.  She  carries 
the  left  one  a  little  j)eculiarly  ;  but  .so  many 
women  do  that. 

Sometimes,  when  the  day's  work  is  over  and 
the  servant  is  gone,  Cicorgiana  comes  to  the 
window  and  looks  away  towards  the  sunsets 
of  winter,  her  hands  clasped  behind  her  back, 
her  motionless  figure  in  relief  against  the  dark- 
ness within,  her  face  white  and  still.  Being  in 
the  shadow  of  my  own  room,  so  that  she  could 
not  see  me,  and  knowing  that  I  ought  not  to  do 
it,  but  unable  to  resist,  I  have  softly  taken  up 
the  spy-glass  which  I  use  in  the  study  of  birds, 
and  have  drawn  Georgiana's  face  nearer  to  me, 
holding  it  there  till  she  turns  away.  I  have 
noted  the  traces  of  pain,  and  once  the  tears 
which  she  could  not  keej)  back  and  was  too 
proud  to  shed.  Then  I  have  sat  before  my 
flickering  embers,  with  I  know  not  what  all 
but  ungovernable  yearning  to  be  over  there  in 

98 


the  shadowy  room  with  her,  and,  whether  she 
would  or  not,  to  told  my  arms  around  her,  and, 
drawing  her  face  against  mine,  whisj^er  :  "  What 
is  it,  Georgiana  ?     And  why  must  it  be  ?  " 


i 

If 


4* 


:•} 


99 


/!■ 


1 


/ 


V  ■  '.  ,  ! 

,1'      I  • 


Ill'',  fountains  of 
the  great  deej) 
opened.  A  new 
heaven,  a  new 
earth.  (leorgi- 
ana  lias  broken 
her  en<;agenienl 
with  her  cousin. 
Mrs.  Cobb  let  it 


W  I 


L ; 


ti. 


> 


out  in  the  strictest  confidence  to  Mrs.  VV^alters. 
Mrs.  Walters,  with  stricter  confidence  still,  has 
told  me  only. 

The  West-Pointer  had  been  \vritin<j^  for  some 
months  in  reijjard  to  the  wild  behaviour  of  his 
cousin.  This  [;Tew  worse,  and  the  crisis  came. 
Georfifiana  sna])i)ed  her  thread  and  put  up  her 
needle.  lie  travelled  all  the  way  down  here  to 
implore.  I  met  him  at  the  f^ate  as  he  left  the 
house  —  a  fine,  strai<;ht,  manly,  handsome  young 
fellow,  his  face  ])ale  with  ])ain,  and  his  eyes 
flashing  with  anger  —  and  bade  him  a  long,  affec- 
tionate, inward  Ciod-speixl  as  he  hurried  away. 
It  was  her  father's  infiuence.  lie  had  always 
wished  for  this  union.  Ah,  the  evils  that  come 
to  the  living  from  the  wrongful  wishes  of  the 
dead  !  Cieorgiana  is  so  haj)j)\'  now,  since  she 
has  been  forced  to  free  herself,  that  sj)ring  in 
this  part  of  the  L'nited  States  seems  to  have 
advanced  about  half  a  month. 

"What  on  earth  will  she  do  with  all  those 
clothes.''"  incpiired  Mrs.  Walters  the  other 
night,  eyeing  me  with  curious  impressiveness. 

"  Let  them  be  hanged,"  I  said,  promj)tly. 

There  is  a  young  scajiegrace  who  passes  my 
hou.se  morning  and  evening  with  his  cows.  He 
has  the  predatory  instincts  of  that  being  who 

lOl 


itj 


\ 


!\. 


Il 


I 


I, 


y, 


r- .    i 


loves  to  call  himself  the  ima^i^c  of  his  Maker, 
and  more  than  once  has  j.^ivcn  annoyance,  espe- 
cially last  year,  when  he  robbed  a  damson-trec 
of  a  brood  of  l^altimore  orioles.  This  winter 
and  spring  his  friendly  interest  in  my  birds  has 
increased,  and  several  times  I  have  cau^^ht  him 
skulkini;  amon<jj  the  pines.  Last  ni^ht  what 
should  I  stumble  on  but  a  trap,  baited  and 
sprunj]^,  under  the  cedar-tree  in  which  the  car- 
dinal roosts.  I  was  up  before  daybreak  this 
mornipf;.  Awhile  after  the  waking  of  the  birds 
here  comes  my  younj:;  bird-thief,  creeping  rap- 
idly to  hi.s  trap.  As  he  stooped  T  had  him  by 
the  collar,  and  within  the  next  five  minutes  I 
must  have  set  up  in  his  nervous  system  a  nega- 
tive disposition  to  the  caging  of  red-birds  that 
will  descend  as  a  |K)sitive  tendency  to  all  the 
generations  of  his  offspring. 

All  day  this  meditated  outrage  has  kept  my 
blood  up.  Think  of  this  beautiful  cardinal  beat- 
ing his  heart  out  against  maddening  bars,  or 
caged  for  life  in  some  dark  city  street,  lonely, 
sick,  and  silent,  bidden  to  sing  joyously  of  that 
high  world  of  light  and  liberty  where  once  he 
sported  !  Think  of  the  exquisite  refinement  of 
cruelty  in  wishing  to  take  him  on  the  eve  of 
May ! 

102 


'*^,-' 


il 


,,-\ 


S   1 


"lAT    Wllll'I'l.Vd. 


'I  I 


103 


/ 


ij»"-; 


It  is  hardly  a  fancy  that  somethinf^  as  loyal  as 
friendship  has  sprun^^  up  be*^\vcen  this  bird  and 
me.  I  accept  his  original  shyness  as  a  mark  of 
his  finer  instincts  ;  but,  like  the  nobler  natures, 
when  once  he  found  it  possible  to  give  his  confi- 
dence, how  frankly  and  fearlessly  has  it  been 
given.  The  other  day,  brilliant,  warm,  windless, 
I  was  tramping  across  the  fields  a  mile  from 
home,  when  I  heard  him  on  the  summit  of  a  dead 
sycamore,  cleaving  the  air  with  str  oke  after  stroke 
of  his  long  melodious  whistle,  as  with  the  swing 
of  a  silken  lash.  When  I  drew  near  he  dropped 
down  from  bough  to  bough  till  he  reached  the 
lowest,  a  few  feet  from  where  1  stood,  and 
showed  by  every  movement  how  glad  he  was 
to  see  me.  W'c  really  have  reached  the  under- 
standing that  the  immemorial  persecution  of  his 
race  by  mine  is  ended  ;  and  now  more  than  ever 
my  fondness  settles  about  him,  since  I  have 
found  his  ha|)piness  plotted  against,  and  have 
perhaps  saved  his  very  life.  It  would  be  easv 
to  traj)  him.  His  eye  should  be  made  to  di.strust 
every  well-arranged  pile  of  sticks  under  which 
lurks  a  morsel. 

To-night  I  called  upon  Georgiana  and  sketched 
the  arrested  tragedy  of  the  morning.  She 
watched  me  curiously,  and  then  dashed  into  a 

J  04 


) 


II.  t 


(f 


little  treatise  on  the  celebrated  friendships  of  man 
for  the  lower  creatures,  in  fact  and  fiction,  from 
camels  down  to  white  mice.  Her  fath..  n;ust 
have  been  a  remarkably  learned  man.  I  didn't 
like  this.  It  made  me  somehow  feel  as  though 
I  were  one  of  .Esoji's  J-'ables.  or  were  being 
translated  into  lu^irlish  as  that  old  school-room 
horror  of  Androclus  and  the  Lion.  In  the  bot- 
tom of  my  soul  I  don't  believe  that  Ge(^r<,qana 
cares  for  birds,  or  knows  the  difference  between 
a  blackbird  and  a  crow.  I  am  going  to  send  her 
a  little  story,  "The  Passion  of  the  Desert." 
Mrs.  Walters  is  now  confident  that  Georgiana 
regrets  having  broken  off  her  engagement,  l-lut 
then  Mrs.  Walters  can  be  a  great  fool  when  she 
puts  her  whole  mind  to  it. 


(•■ 


fl  ,1 

li 


los 


IK 


"H 


,\-    i\      \[ 


^  ^;  'v  ii  ^^  ^'  '■  't,  :^  m  i.  ,>,: 


#IM-- 


XIV 


>V 


.;^I^'X4 


r    /, 


11 


«! 
^ 


7N  APRIL  I  comnuMu-c  to 
scnilch  and  (.lii;'  in  m\'  -Mr- 
den. 

To-day  as  T  was  rakinp;  off 

my  strawberry  bed,  Georf;!- 

ana,  wboni   I  ha\e  not  seen 

I/'     !        >|,     since  the  ni<;bt  when  she  satirized 

,'.-_..[  ,   '..if^}>    me,  called  from  the  window: 

"^-"^h=sB^^'>'^'        "  "^^'^""^^^  '^''^  y*^'*-^  ft^i'ift  to  plant 
this  year?  " 

"  Oh,  a  little  of  cverythin<;-,"  I  answered, 
under  my  hat.  "  What  are  j'ou  going  to  plant 
thi.s  year  ?"      ' 

"  Are  you  going  to  have  many  strawber- 
ries  .'' 

"  It's  too  soon  to  tell :  they  haven't  bloomed 

1 06 


1. 


\ 


V 


yet.  It's  too  soon  to  tell  when  they  do  bloom. 
Sometimes  strawberries  are  like  women  :  Whole 
beds  full  of  showy  blossoms;  but  when  the 
time  comes  to  be  ripe  ami  luscious,  you  can't 
find  them." 

"Indeed." 

"  "lis  true,  'tis  pitv  " 

"  1  had  always  supposed  that  t.)  a  .Southern 
Kcntleman  woman  was  not  a  berry,  but  ;i  rose. 
What  does  he  hunt  for  in  woman  as  much  as 
bloom  and  fra-rance  .'  Hut  I  do  not  belon--  to 
the  rose-order  of  Southern  women  myself.  Svl- 
via  does.     Why  did  you  send  me  that  story  }  " 

"  Didn't  you  like  it.?" 

"  No.  A  woman  couldn't  care  for  a  storv 
about  a  man  and  a  ti<;ress.  I-ither  she  w(;uld 
feel  that  she  was  too  much  left  out,  or  suspect 
that  she  was  too  much  put  in.  The  same  sort 
of  story  about  a  lion  and  a  woman  — that  would 
be  better." 

I  raked  in  silence  for  a  minute,  and  when  I 
looked  up  Georgiana  was  o-^ne.  I  remember 
her  .sayin<r  (,nce  that  children  should  be  kept 
tart ;  but  now  and  then  I  fancy  that  she  would 
like  to  keep  even  a  middle-ao-ed  man  in  brine. 
Who  knows  but  that  in  the  end  I  shall  sell  my 
place  to  the  Cobbs  and  move  away. 

107 


i'i 


1.1 ' 


'I 


'■u 


f  ' 


!h 


/■i'  >i 


Five  more  daysof  ,\|)iil,  and  thou  .M:i\I  l-'or 
the  last  half  of  this  hL;ht-aiul-sha(l()\v  month, 
when  the  clouds,  Hke  sihools  of  chan^eal)le 
lovely  creatures,  seem  to  be  playin,:;  and  rush- 
in-;  away  throu,t;h  the  waters  of  the  sun,  life  to 
me  has  narrowed  more  and  moie  to  the  led-bird, 
who  L;ets  tamer  and  tamer  with  habit,  and  to 
Geor^dana,  who  i;"ets  wilder  and  wilder  with 
haj)|)iness.  The  bird  fills  the  yard  with  brilliant 
sin^inj;' ;  she  fills  her  room  with  her  low,  clear 
sonj^s,  hidden  behind  the  window-curtains,  which 
are  now  so  much  oftener  and  so  needlessly 
closed.  I  work  nnself  nearlv  to  death  in  mv 
garden,  but  she  does  not  open  them.  The  other 
day  the  red-bird  sat  in  a  tree  near  by,  and  his 
notes  floated  out  on  the  air  like  scarlet  streamers. 
(ie()ri;iana  vas  singin^i;',  so  low  that  I  was  mak- 
in<;'  no  nf.'.se  with  my  rake  in  order  to  hea*  md 
when  he  be.i;an,  before  I  realized  what  ..as 
doin^',  I  had  seized  a  brickbat  and  hurled  it, 
barely  missin^i;"  him,  and  driving;  him  away,  lie 
did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it;  neither  did  1; 
but  as  I  raised  my  eyes  I  saw  that  Georj^iana 
had  opened  the  curtains  to  listen  to  him,  and 
was  closing  them  with  her  e}es  on  my  face, 
and  a  look  on  hers  that  has  haunted  me  ever 
since. 

1 08 


S         \ 


A|)ril  tlu'  26tli.  It's  of  IK)  use.  'I'o-monow 
ni,i;ht  I  will  «;()  to  ^^cc  Gcor-iana,  and  ask  her  to 
nuirry  inc. 

April  2.Sth.  Man  that  is  born  of  woman  is  of 
low  days  and  fnll  of  trouble.  I  am  not  the  least 
sick,  but  I  am  not  feelin-;-  at  all  well.  So  have 
made  a  will,  and  left  everything;  to  Mrs.  Walters. 
She  has  Ik-cii  over  five  times  to-day,  and  this 
cvenin.i;-  sat  by  me  a  lon.i;  time,  holdiuf;  my  hand 
and  smoothini;-  my  forehead,  and  in\i;in<;-  me  to 
try  a  cream  j)oultice  —  a  mu.stard-i)lastcr  —  a 
bowl  of  o-ruel  —  a  broiled  chicken. 

I  believe  deor^iana  thinks  I'll  ask  her  a<;ain. 
\ot  if  I  lived  by  her  throu,i;h  eternity  !  Thy 
rod  and  Thy  .staff    -  //uy  comfort  me. 


I. 


1)1 


If 


f/ 


if 


109 


f„ 


w 


■  >f.  '"^'^...^'C  ■' v^i■.>,.."i^'^^'.'..^vM'■' 


''^ 


"V^ 


►4\  *» 


XV 


POOR  devil  will  ask 
Li  woman  to  marry 
him.  She  will  refuse 
him.  The  clay  after 
she  will  meet  him  as 
serenely  as  if  he  had 
asked  her  for  a  pin. 

It     is     now     May 
15th,  and  I  have  not 


no 


S         \ 


\ 


1^  lY.^ 


spoken  to  Gcor-iana  when  I've  had  a  chance. 
She  has  been  entirely  too  ha])py,  to  jiid-e  from 
her  sin-in-  for  me  to  -et  alon-  with  under 
the  circumstances.  Ikit  this  mornin-,  as  I  was 
planting  a  hedge  inside  my  fence  under  her 
window,  she  leaned  over  and  said,  as  though 
nothing  were  wrong  between  us,  -  What  are  you 
planting  ?  " 

I  have  sometimes  thought  that  Georgiana  can 
ask  more  questions  than  Socrates. 

"A  hedge." 

"  What  for.?  " 

"To  grow." 

"  What  do  you  want  it  to  grow  for  ? " 

"  My  garden  is  too  public.      I  wish  to  be  pro- 
tected  from  outsiders." 

"Would  it  be  the  same  thing  if  I  were  to 
nail  up  this  window.?  That  would  be  so  much 
quicker.  It  will  be  ten  years  before  your  hedge 
is  high  enough  to  keep  me  from  seeing  you. 
And  even  thei,,  you  know,  I  could  move  up- 
stairs. But  1  am  so  sorry  to  be  an  outsider." 
"  I  merely  remarked  that  I  was  planting  a 
hedge." 

V^^hen  Georgiana  spoKe  again  her  voice  was 
lowered:  "Would  you  open  a  gateway  for  me 
into  your  garden,  to  be  always  mine,  so  that  I 

III 


V- 


'fi 


V(»l 


tn 


It 


\'> 


m 


> 


.V' 


might  go  out  and  come  in,  and  never  another 
human  soul  enter  it  ?  " 

Now  Jacob  had  often  begged  me  to  cut  him 
a  private  gateway  on  that  side  of  the  garden,  so 
that  only  he  might  come  in  and  go  out ;  and  I 
had  refused,  since  I  did  not  wish  him  to  get  to 
me  so  easily  with  his  complaints.  Besides,  a 
gate  once  opened,  who  may  not  use  it  ?  and  I 
was  indignant  that  Georgiana  should  lightly 
ask  anything  at  my  hands;  therefore  I  looked 
quickly  and  sternly  up  at  her  and  said,  "  I  will 
not." 

Afterwards  the  thought  rushed  over  me  that 
she  had  not  spoken  of  any  gateway  through 
my  garden  fence,  but  of  another  one,  mystical, 
hidden,  infinitely  more  sacred.  For  her  voice 
descended  almost  in  a  whisper,  and  her  face,  as 
she  bent  down  towards  me,  had  on  it  I  know 
not  what  angelic  expression.  She  seemed  float- 
ing to  me  from  heaven. 

May  17.  To-day  I  put  a  little  private  gate 
through  my  fence  under  Georgiana's  window, 
as  a  sign  to  her.  l^alaam's  beast  that  I  am  ! 
Yes,  seven  times  more  than  the  inspired  ass. 

As  I  passed  to-day,  I  noticed  Georgiana  look- 
ing down  at  the  gate  that  I  made  yesterday.    She 

112 


■'  i 


•.'! 


(\ 


ji 


i. 


Ml 


"'"'"^''''^^^^^'---"■'-.,...,,,,,,„.^^^._ 


I 


113 


I'   .  * 


held  a  flower  to  her  iKxse  and  eyes,  but  behind 
the  leaves  I  detected  that  she  was  hiughing. 

"  (jood-mornin^' !  "  she  called  to  me.  "  What 
did  you  cut  that  u^dy  hole  in  your  fence  for?  " 

"  That's  not  an  u^ly  hole.  That's  a  little 
private  f^ateway." 

"  But  what's  the  little  private  gateway /"'>;■  .i'" 

"  Oh,  well !  You  don't  understand  these  mat- 
ters.    I'll  tell  your  mother." 

"  My  mother  is  too  old.  She  no  longer  stoops 
to  such  things.     Tell  mc  /" 

"  Impossible  !  " 

"  I'm  dying  to  know." 

*'  What  will  you  give  me  .'  " 

"  Anything  —  this  flower  !  " 

"  But  what  would  the  flower  stand  for  in  that 
case  }     A  little  pri  —  " 

"  Nothing.  Take  it !  "  and  she  dropped  it 
lightly  on  my  face  and  disappeared,  .t'•..^  I  stood 
twirling  it  ecstatically  under  my  nose,  and  won- 
dering how  I  could  get  her  to  come  back  to  the 
window,  the  edge  of  a  curtain  was  lifted,  and 
a  white  hand  stole  out  and  softly  closed  the 
shutters. 

In  the  evening  Sylvia  went  in  to  a  concert  of 
the  school,  which  was  to  be  held  at  the  Court- 
house, a  chorus  of  girls  bemg  impanelled  in  the 

114 


'  )• 


'4 


i. 


I 


? " 


that 


jury-box.  and   the   princiixil.  who  wears  a   little 
wig,  taking  her  seat  on  the  woolsack.      I    ,,rom- 
iscd  to  have  the  very  pick  of  the  garden   readv. 
and  told  Sylvia  to  come  to  the  arbour  the   last 
thing  before   starting.      She  wore  big  blue  ro- 
settes in  her  hair,  and  at  that  twilight  hour  looked 
as  lovely,  s.^ft,  and  pure  as  moonshine;  so  thnt 
I  lost  control  of  myself  and  kissed  her  twice  — 
once  for  Georgiana  and  once  for  myself.     Surelv 
it  must  have  been  Sylvia's  first  experience.     '[ 
hope  so.     Vet  she   passed   through   it  with  the 
composure  of  a  graduate  of  several  years'  stand- 
ing.    I3ut,  then,  women  inherit  a  great  stock  of 
fortitude  from  their  mothers  in  this  regard   and 
perpetually  add  to  it  by  their  own  dispositions. 
Ought  I  to  warn  Georgiana  — good  heavens!   in 
a  general  way,  of  course  -  that  Sylvia  should  be 
kcjn  away  from  sugar,  and  well  under  the  influ- 
ence of  vulgar  fractions  ? 

It  made  me  feel  uncomfortable  to  see  her  go 
tripping  out  of  her  front  gate  on  the  arm  of"a 
youth.  Can  it  be  i)ossil)Ie  that  //.■  would  try  to 
do  what  /  did  >  Men  differ  so  in  their  virtues, 
and  are  so  alike  in  their  transgressions.  This 
forward  gosling  displayed  white  duck  pantaloons 
hrandished  pumps  on  his  feet,  which  looked  flat 
enough  to  have  been  webbed,  and  was  scented 

115 


/,: 


-» J- 


v 

>  I  /■ 

tl  i\  li 

:   L 


'I 

li 


i 


f 


II     t  ■ 


',*>■•  I 


',  % 


as  to  his  marital  locks  with  a  far-rcathiiig  pesti- 
lence of  berijamot  and  cinnamon. 

After  thoy  were  gone  I  strolled  back  to  my 
arbour  and  sat  down  amid  the  ruins  of  Sylvia's 
flowers.  The  night  was  mystically  beautiful. 
The  moon  seemed  to  me  to  be  softly  stealing 
down  the  sky  to  kiss  Kndymion.  I  looked 
across  towards  Georgiana's  window.  She  was 
there,  and  I  slijiped  over  and  stood  under  it. 

'*  Georgiana,"  I  whispered,  "were  you,  too, 
looking  at  the  moon  ?  " 

"  i^art  of  the  time,"  she  said,  sourly.  "Isn't 
it  permitted .'' " 

"  Sylvia  left  her  scissors  in  the  arbour,  and  I 
can't  find  them." 

"  She'll  find  them  to-morrow." 

"  If  they  get  wet,  you  know,  they'll  rust." 

"  I  keep  something  to  take  rust  off." 

"  Georgiana,  I've  got  something  to  tell  you 
about  Sylvia." 

"  What }     That  you  kissed  her  .?  " 

"  N  —  o  !     Not  //id/,  e.xactly  !  " 

"  Good-night !  " 


May  2i.st.  Again  I  asked  Georgiana  to  be 
mine.  I  am  a  perfect  fool  about  her.  But  she's 
coming  my  way  at  last  —  God  bless  her ! 

ii6 


May  24th.     I  renewed  my  suit  to  Georgiana. 

May  27th.     I  besought  Georgiana  to  hear  me. 

May  28th.  For  the  last  time  I  offered  my 
hand  m  marriage  to  the  elder  Miss  Cobb.  Now 
I  am  done  with  her  forever.     I  am  no  fool. 

May  29th.     Oh,  <iamn  Mrs.  Walters. 


117 


!  t 


/.I 


;./ 


?  '1; 


ii 


i 


t\ 


r-^ 


y 


7^i^,-^\ 


\  I 


XVI 


f  'i' 

' 

.   1     / 
'    1 

;l 

f 

( 

r;       1 

►      ,' 

1 


HIS  morning,  the  3d  of 
June,  I  went  out  to  pick 
the  first  dish  of  straw- 
berries for  my  break- 
fast. As  I  was  stooping 
down  I  heard  a  timid, 
playful  voice  at  the 
window  like  the  echo 
of  a  year  ago :  "  Arc 
you  the  gardener  ?  " 
Since  Georgiana  will  not  marry  me,  if  she 
would  only  let  me  alone! 

"  Old  man,  are  you  the  gardener  ?  " 

iiS 


^  i/ -  '^ 


-•imntUtHUma  .1^ 


^ 


ICiJ 


"Yes,  I'm  the  fcardctui  I  know  what  you 
arc." 

"  How  much  do  you  ask  for  your  straw- 
herrics  ? " 

"  They  come  hi<;h.  Nothin.i;  of  mine  is  to  he 
as  cheap  hereafter  as  it  has  hecn." 

"I  am  so  <;lad  — for  your  sake.  T  should 
like  to  possess  something  of  yours,  but  I  suppose 
every  thin*;  is  too  high  now." 

"  Entirely  too  l^.igh  !  " 

'•  If  I  only  could  have  foreseen  that  there 
would  be  an  increase  of  value  !  As  for  me,  I 
have  felt  that  I  am  getting  cheaj^er  lately.  I 
may  have  to  ^i^nr  myself  away  soon.  If  I  only 
knew  of  some  one  who  loved  the  lower  ani- 
mals." 

"  The  fox,  for  instance  .''  " 

"  Yes ;  do  you  know  of  any  one  who  would 
accept  the  present  of  a  fox  ? " 

"  Ahem  !  I  wouldn't  mind  having  a  /anie  fox. 
I  don't  care  much  for  wild  foxes." 

"Oh,  this  one  would  get  tame  —  in  time." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  know  of  any  one  just  at 
present." 

•'Very  well.  Sylvia  will  get  the  highest  mark 
in  arithmetic.  And  Joe  is  distinguishing  him- 
self at  West  Point.     That's  what  I   wanted  to 

119 


FT 


i] 


■!;■; 


r 


•n 


tell  you.  I'll  send  over  the  crcim  and  sup;ar, 
and  h()j)c  you  will  enjoy  all  your  berries. 
We  shall  buy  some  in  the  market-house  next 
week." 

Later  in  the  forenoon  I  sent  the  strawberries 
over  to  Georj;iana.  I  have  a  variety  that  is 
the  shape  of  the  human  heart,  and  when  ri))c 
it  matches  in  colour  that  brifjhter  current  of  the 
heart  throu<;h  which  runs  the  hidden  history  of 
our  passions.  All  over  the  top  of  the  dish  I 
carefully  laid  these  heart-shaped  berries,  and 
under  the  biggest  one,  at  the  very  top,  I  slipped 
this  little  note  :  "  Look  at  the  shape  of  them, 
Gcorgiana !  I  send  them  all  to  you.  They  are 
perishable." 

This  afternoon  Gcorgiana  sent  back  the 
empty  dish,  and  inside  the  napkin  was  this 
note  :  "  They  are  exactly  the  shape  and  colour 
of  my  emery  needle-bag.  I  have  been  j)olish- 
ing  my  needles  in  it  for  many  years." 

Later,  as  I  was  walking  to  town,  1  met 
Georgiana  and  her  mother  coming  out.  No 
explanation  had  ever  been  made  to  the  mother 
of  that  goose  of  a  gate  in  our  division  fence ; 
and  as  Georgiana  had  declined  to  accept  the 
sign,  I  determined  to  show  her  that  the  gate 
could  now  stand  for  something  else.    So  I  said : 

120 


:ar. 


ics. 
cxt 


rics 


IS 


1))C 

the 


o 


1  I 

)ccl 


m. 


ire 


his 
lur 
ih- 


et 
er 


tc 


I 


<h^''^,^. 


GEORlilA.NA   AM)    HKK   MoTHhK   CuMI.NG   OLT. 


121 


I 
I 

i 

I 


f 


\ 


^ 


"Mrs.  Cobb,  when  you  sciul  your  servants 
over  for  j;recn  corn,  you  can  let  them  come 
throuj^h  that  h'ttle  ^^atc.  It  will  be  more  con- 
venient." 

Only,  1  was  so  an;j:ry  and  confused  that  I 
called  her  Mrs.  Corn,  and  said  that  when  she 
sent  her  little  Cobbs  over  .   .   .  etc.,  etc. 


-H 


After  Gcorgiana's  last  treatment  of  mc  I 
resolved  not  to  let  her  talk  to  me  out  of  her 
window.  So  about  nine  o'clock  this  morninj; 
I  took  a  negro  boy  and  set  him  to  picking  the 
berries,  while  I  stood  by,  directing  him  in  a 
deep,  manly  voice  as  to  the  best  way  of  man- 
aging that  intricate  business.  Presently  I  heard 
Georgiana  begin  to  sing  to  herself  behind  the 
curtains. 

"  Hurry  up  and  fill  that  cup,"  I  said  to  him, 
savagely.  "  And  that  w-ill  do  this  morning. 
You  can  go  to  the  mill.  The  meal's  nearly 
out." 

When  he  was  gone  I  called,  in  an  undertone  : 
"  Georgiana  !  Come  to  the  window  !  Please  I 
Oh,  Georgiana !  " 

But  the  song  went  on.  What  was  the  matter.'' 
I  could  not  endure  it.  There  was  one  way  by 
which  perhaps  she  could  be  brought.     I  whis- 

122 


<l 


;\ 


k 


^^  \r 


I 


I 


tied  long  and  loud  again  and  again.  The  cur- 
tains jxirted  a  littl'j  space. 

"  I  was  merely  whistling  to  the  bird,"  I  said. 

"  I  knew  it,"  she  answered,  looking  as  I  had 
never  seen  her.  *'  Whenever  you  speak  to  him 
your  voice  is  full  of  confidence  and  of  love.  I 
believe  in  it  and  like  to  hear  it." 

"What  do  you  mean,  (ieorgiana .' "  1  cried, 
imploringly. 

"Ah,  Adam!"  she  said,  with  a  rush  of  feel- 
ing. It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  called 
me  by  name.  She  bent  her  face  down.  Over 
it  there  passed  a  look  of  sweetness  and  sadness 
indescribably  blended.  "Ah,  Adam!  you  have 
asked  me  many  times  to  viany  you  !  Make  me 
believe  once  that  you  hnr  me  !  Make  me  feel 
that  I  could  trust  myself  to  you  for  life !  " 

"What  else  can  I  do.''"  I  answered,  stirred 
to  the  deepest  that  was  in  me,  throwing  my 
arms  backward,  and  standing  with  an  open 
breast  into  which  she  might  gaze. 

And  she  did  search  my  eyes  and  face  in 
silence. 

"What  more?"  I  cried  again,  "in  God's 
name  .'' " 

She  rested  her  face  on  her  palm,  looking 
thoughtfully  across  the  yard.     Over  there  the 

123 


!    )1 


f 


I  1 


iA 


I: 


I! 


I 


.'  f, 


'I  \ 


i;v 


}\ 


red-bird  was  sin^n'nj;.  Suddenly  she  leaned 
down  towards  me.  Love  was  on  her  face 
now.  Hut  her  eyes  held  mine  with  determi- 
nation to  wrest  from  them  the  last  truth  they 
mii^ht  contain,  and  her  voice  trembled  with 
doubt : 

"  Would  you  put  the  red-bird  in  a  ca<(e  for 
me.''  Would  you  be  willing  to  do  that  for  me, 
Adam.?" 

At  those  whimsical,  cruel  words  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  reveal  all  that  I  felt  —  the  surprise, 
the  sorrow,  the  jiain.  Scenes  of  boyhood  flashed 
through  my  memory.  A  conscience  built  up 
through  years  of  experience  stood  close  bv  me 
with  admonition.  I  saw  the  love  on  her  face, 
the  hope  with  which  she  hung  upon  my  rejily, 
as  though  it  would  decide  everything  between 
us.  I  did  not  hesitate;  my  hands  droj)ped  to 
my  side,  the  warmth  died  out  of  my  heart  as 
out  of  spent  ashes,  and  I  answered  her,  with 
cold  reproach  : 

••  i_wi)!_not!" 

The  colour  died  out  of  her  face  also.  Iler 
eyes  still  rested  on  mine,  but  now  with  pitying 
sadness. 

'•  I  feared  it,"  she  murmured,  audibly,  but  to 
herself,  and  t!ie  curtains  fell  together. 

124 


I      t 


^:i' 


a.^^Af^ta^'**'  — ■-; 


i 


I'ourdays  have  passed  Gcr^nana  has  cast 
me  off.  Her  curtains  are  cl,.se<l  except  whe„ 
-she  ,s  nut  there.  I  have  trie.i  to  see  her:  she 
excuses  erself.  I  have  written  ;  „,v  letters 
couK.  back  unread.  J  h,ve  ,ai,,  ,,  ,,,,;,  f,„  ,^,^ 
on  he  streets;  she  will  not  talk  with  n,e  The 
t.o  between  us  has  been  severed.  With  her  i, 
could  never  have  been  affection 

And  for  what.'     I  ask  my.self  over  and  over 
and  over  and  over -for  what.'     Was  .she  ieal 

'r  "I    ""'  ''■'"•   '"'    "'"    »'-•    -I'-e   that    , 
sh-H.1    put    ,t   out   o.     the    way .'      SonK.,i„,es 

;'""'.""  ""  •"^"-      'Ji'l  »he  take  that  uK-ans  o, 
fo.cu,,.  n,e  to  a  test.'     Women  do   that.     ]Jid 

•she  w,sh  to  show  her  power  over  ,„e.den,andin,. 
tiK.  one  thu,«  she  knew  woul.l  be  the  nardest  fo^ 
•'•eto^rant.'  Women  do  that.  Did  she  crave 
"  l'l~;'f  seein.  me  do  wn,n«  ,o  h„,nour 
l>u    eapnce.'     U'omen  do  that.      ,„„    ,„„   „„^. 

';!  ''T       "'''  '""   '  '-■^■"'  ^'--^"^'   -it'>   ll.e 
'"""Kin  ol  (;eor,.iana.     I  have  sought  in  everv 

way  to    have    her  e.vplain,   to   e.vplain    mvself. 

.^hcwd   ne,ther,dve  nor  receive  an  e.vplana.ion, 

M>ad  supposed  that   her  unnatural   re.,ues, 

«o,dd  have  been  the  end  of  n,y  love,  but  it  has 

not.  that  her  treatment  since  would  have  fataliv 
^'nns  n,y  pr.de,  bu'   it  has  no,,     i   ,„ulers,aud 

■-'5 


i. 


■*) 


neither;  forgive  both;  love  her  now  with  that 
added  pain  which  comes  from  a  man's  discover- 
ing that  the  woman  dearest  to  him  must  he  par- 
doned—  pardoned  as  ionj;  as  he  shall  live. 

Never  since  have  I  been  able  to  look  at  the 
red-bird  with  the  old  gladness.  He  is  the  re- 
minder of  my  loss.  Reminder.''  Do  I  ever  for- 
get? Am  I  not  thinking  of  that  before  his  notes 
lash  my  memory  at  dawn  ?  All  day  can  they 
do  more  than  furrow  deeper  the  channel  of  un- 
forgetfulness  .'^  Little  does  he  dream  what  my 
friendship  for  him  has  cost  me.  Hut  this  solace 
I  have  at  heart  —  that  I  v/as  not  even  tempted 
to  betrav  him. 


Three  days  more  have  passed.  No  sign  yet 
that  Gecrgiana  will  relent  soon  or  ever.  luich 
day  the  strain  becomes  harder  to  bear.  My 
mind  has  dwelt  upon  my  last  meeting  with  her, 
until  the  truth  about  it  wavers  upon  my  memory 
like  vag -le,  uncertain  shadows.  She  doubted 
rmy  love  tor  hei'.  What  proof  was  it  she  de- 
manded.' I  must  stoj)  looking  at  the  red-bird, 
lying  here  and  there  under  the  trees,  and  listen- 
ing to  him  as  he  sings  above  me.  My  eyes 
devour  him  whenever  he  crosses  my  path  with 
an    uneompre bended    fascination    that   is    pain. 

126 


'% 


How  gentle  he  has  become,  and  how,  without 
intenclin<;  it,  I  have  deepened  the  perils  of  his 
life  by  the  very  gentleness  that  I  have  brought 
upon  him.  Twice  already  the  fate  of  his  species 
has  struck  at  him,  but  I  have  jjledged  myself  to 
be  his  friend.  This  is  his  happiest  season;  a 
few  days  now.  and  he  will  hear  the  call  of  his 
young  in  the  nest. 

I  shut  myself  in   my  workshop   in   the   vard 
this  morning.     I   did   not  wish   my  servant's  to 
know.     In  there  I  made  a  bird-trap  such  as  I 
had  often  used  when  a  boy.     And  late  this  after- 
noon I  went  to  town  and  bought  a  bird-cage.      I 
was    afraid    the   merchant  would   misjudge   mc, 
and  explained.      He  .scanned   my   face  silently. 
To-morrow  I  will  snare  the  red-bird  down  behind 
the  pines  long  enough  to  impress  on   his  mem- 
ory a  life-long  suspicion  of  every  such   artifice, 
and  then  I  will  sot   him   free  again   in   his  wide 
world  of  light.     Above  all  things,  i  must  see  to 
it  that  he  does  not  wound   himself  or  havj  the 
least  feather  broken. 

It  is  far  ]Ki.st  midnight  now,  and  1  have  not 
slept  or  wished  for  slumber. 

Consiantly  since  darkness  came  on  I  have 
been  watching  Georgiana's  window  for  the  light 

127 


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1      I 


I    .,• 


of  her  candle,  but  there  has  been  no  kindly 
j^limmer  yet.  The  only  radiance  shed  upon  the 
gloom  outside  comes  from  the  heavens.  Great 
cage-shaped  white  clouds  are  swung  up  to  the 
firmament,  and  within  these  pale,  gentle,  im- 
j)risoned  lightnings  flutter  feebly  to  escape, 
fall  back,  rise,  and  try  again  and  again,  and 
fail. 

...  A  little  after  dark  this  evening  I  carried 
the  red-bird  over  to  Georgiana.   .  .   . 

I  have  seen  her  so  little  of  late  that  I  did  not 
know  she  had  been  away  from  home  for  days. 
lUit  she  was  e.\i)ected  to-night,  or,  at  furthest, 
to-morrow  morning.  I  left  the  bird  with  the  ser- 
vant at  the  door,  who  could  hardly  believe  what 
he  saw.  As  I  passed  out  of  my  front  gate  on  my 
wav  there,  the  boy  who  returns  about  that  time 
from  the  pasture  for  his  cows  joined  me  as  I 
hurried  along,  attract.Hl  by  the  fluttering  of  the 
bird  in  the  cage. 

"  Is  it  the  red-bird  }  I  tried  to  catch  him 
once,"  he  said,  with  entire  forgiveness  of  me,  as 
having  served  him  right,  "but  I  caught  some- 
thing else.  Til  never  forget  that  whipping. 
Oh,  but  W(iuldn"t  I  like  to  have  him!  Mr.  Moss, 
vou  wouldn't  mind  niv  trving  to  catch  one  of 
those  little  bits  n'  brown  fellows,  would  vou.  that 


\      > 


\ 


I 


k\ 


-.■"-^rrszz. 


! 


^z; 


'-/!:..,/.. 


I' 


lil    ■■     UtM   |.|,,\'|     J     ,  1,^1 


I"    II.W  K    III.M  !  " 


K 


'•''J 


t: 


I' 


*    ^ 


hop  around  under  the  ))ine-tree.s  ?  They  aren't 
any  account  to  anybody.  Oh  my  !  but  wouldn't 
I  like  to  have  ///w  /  May  I  brin<;  my  trap  some 
time,  and  will  you  help  me  to  catch  one  o'  those 
little  bits  (/  brown  ones?  \'ou  can't  beat  ?fif 
catching  them  !  " 

Several  times  to-nii;ht  I  have  i^one  across  and 
listened  under  (ieorgiana's  window.  The  ser- 
vant must  have  set  the  ca.i;e  in  her  room,  for, 
as  I  listened,  I  am  sure  I  heard  the  red-bird 
beatin";  his  head  and  breast  a<i;ainst  the  wires. 
A  while  ago  I  went  again,  and  did  not  hear 
him.  I  waited  a  long  time.  ...  lie  may  be 
quieted.   .   .   . 

Ah,  if  any  one  had  said  to  me  that  I  would 
ever  do  what  I  have  done,  with  what  full,  deep 
joy  could  I  have  throttled  the  lie  in  his  throat ! 
I  i)ut  the  trap  under  one  of  the  trees  where  I 
have  been  used  to  feed  him.  When  it  fell  he 
was  not  greatly  frightened.  He  clutched  the 
side  of  it,  and  looked  out  at  me.  My  own  mind 
supplied  his  words  :  "  I  lelp  !  I'm  caught !  Take 
me  out !  ^^)U  jiromised  !  "  When  I  transferred 
him  to  the  cage,  for  a  moment  his  confidence 
lasted  still.  He  mounted  the  perch,  shook  his 
plumage,  and  s]>oke  out  bravely  and  cheerily. 
Then  all  at  once  came  on  the  terror. 

130 


t 


The  dawn  came  on  this  nutrnini;  with  its  okl 
splendour.  The  birds  in  ni\  yard,  as  ol  old, 
j)()ured  torth  then"  soi\l;s.  Hut  those  loud,  Ioul;', 
clear,  melodious,  deep-hearted,  i)assi()nate,  best- 
loved  notes!  As  the  chorus  swelled  Irom  shad- 
owy shrubs  and  vines  to  the  s|)arklin^  tree-to|>s 
I  listened  for  some  sound  trom  (ieor,L;iana's  room, 
but  o\er  there  I  saw  onlv  the  soft,  slow  tlappini; 
of  the  white  curtains  like  si,i;nals  of  distress. 

Towards  ten  o'clock,  wanderiuL^  restless,  I 
snatched  up  a  book  which  I  had  no  wish  to  read, 
and  went  to  the  arbour  where  I  had  so  often 
discoursed  to  Sylvia  aljuut  childr,  a's  cruelty  to 
birds.  Throuj;h  the  fluttering;'  leaves  the  sun- 
light dri])ped  as  a  weii;htless  shower  of  ^old, 
and  the  lon^  i)endants  of  youn<;  fruit  swaved 
gently  in  their  cool  waxen  j^reenness.  Where 
siMiic  rottin^^  planks  crossed  the  to])  of  the 
arbour  a  blue-jay  sat  on  her  coarse  nest ;  and 
presently  the  mate  flew  to  her  with  a  worm,  and 
then  talked  to  her  in  a  low  voice,  as  nunh  as 
saying  that  they  must  now  leave  iiie  place  for- 
ever. !  was  thinkin.t;  how  love  softens  e\en  the 
voice  of  this  file-throated  screamer,  when  alon*:; 
the  <.;arden  walk  came  the  rustle  of  a  woman's 
clothes,  and,  sprin,L;in,L;'  up,  I  stood  face  t(»  face 


with  Gcorgiana. 


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d' 


"What  have  you  done?"   shr  im|)Ii)ir(l. 

"  What  have  yon  done  ? "  I  an.swcrcd  .is 
{[uickly. 

"Oh,  Adam,  Adam!  N'ou  have  killed  it! 
I  low  could  you  ?     1  low  coukl  you  ?  " 

"...  Is  he  dead,  (ieor^Mana  }    Is  he  dead  .-*..." 

I  l'or<;ot  everythin.i;"  else,  and  pullini;  my  hat 
down  over  my  eyes,  turned  irom  her  in  the 
helpless  shock  of  silence  that  came  with  tho.se 
irre])arable  words. 

Then,  in  unj^overnable  an,L;er,  su^ferin^^  re- 
morse, I  turned  upon  her  where  she  sat:  "  It  is 
yon  who  killed  him  !  Why  do  you  come  here  to 
blame  me.''  And  now  you  i)retend  to  be  sorry. 
You  felt  no  pity  when  pity  would  have  done 
some  ^ood.     TriHer  I     IIy|)ocrite!" 

"  It  is  false!"  she  cried,  her  words  nashin<; 
from  her  whole  countenance,  her  form  drawn  up 
to  rejjcl  the  shock  of  the  blow. 

"  Did  you  not  ask  for  him  }  " 

"No!" 

"Oh,  deny  it  all!  It  is  a  falsehood  —  in- 
vented by  mc  on  the  spot.  \'()U  know  nothin;^ 
of  it!  N'ou  did  not  ask  me  to  do  this!  And 
when  I  have  yielded,  you  have  not  run  to  re- 
proach me  here  and  to  cry,  'llow  could  you? 
How  could  you  ,'' '  " 

^55 


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,>M-^  «.< 


"  No  !     No  !      ICvcr\  word  of  it  —  " 
•'  Untruth  acUlcd  to  it  all  !     Oh.  that  I  sht)uUl 
liave  been  so  deceived,  bliiuled,  tai<en  in  !  " 

"Lovely  innocence!  It  is  loo  much!  do 
away  ! 

*'  I  will  not  stand  this  any  Ioniser  !  "  she  cried. 
"I  will  go  away;  but  not  till  I  have  told  you 
why  I  have  acted  .i,-.  I  have.  " 

"It  is  to)  late  lor  that!  I  do  not  care  to 
hear!" 

"  Then  you  shall  hear  !  "  she  rejilied.  "  You 
shall  know  that  it  is  because  I  have  believed 
you  capable  of  speaking  to  me  as  you  have  just 
spoken  :  believed  you  at  heart  unsparing  and 
unjust.  Vou  think  I  asked  you  to  do  what  you 
have  done.''  No!  I  asked  you  whether  vou 
would  be  willing  i)  do  it;  and  when  you  said 
vou  would  not.  I  saw  then  —  by  your  voice, 
your  eyes,  your  whole  face  and  manner  —  that 
you  would.  Saw  it  as  plainly  at  that  moment, 
in  si)ite  of  your  denial,  as  I  see  it  now  —  the 
cruelty  in  you,  the  unfaithfulness,  the  willing- 
ness to  betray.  It  was  for  this  reason  —  not 
because  I  heard  you  refuse,  but  because  I  saw 
you  consent  —  that  I  could  not  forgi\e  you." 

She  paused  abruptly  and   looked  across  into 

134 


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>%. 


(;( 


»(» 


my  face.     What  she  may  now  have  read  in  it   I 
do  not  know.     Then  an-er  s\vei)t  her  on  : 

"How  often  had  I  not  heard  you  hitter  and 
contemptuous  towards  people  because  they  are 
treacherous,  cruel!  How  ..tten  have  you  talked 
of  your  love  of  nature,  of  our  inhumanity  towards 
lower  creatures  !      lUit  what  have  you  done  } 

*'  V'ou  set  your  fancy  U|)on  one  of  these  crea- 
tures, lie  in  wait   for   it,  beset   it  with   kindnes.s, 
persevere  in  overcomin.i;  its  wildness.      Ynu  are 
amused,  deli,<;hte(l,  proud  of  y,,iu-  success.     One 
day  — you    remember .'  — it    san-    as    vou    had 
always  wished  to  h,  ar  it.      It  annoyed  you,  and 
yr)U  threw  a  stone  at  it.    With  a  little  less  an-ry 
aim   yr)u   would    have    killed    it.      I    have    never 
seen  anythin-  m-uv  inhuman.      II„w  do  [  know 
that  some  day  you  would   not   be  tired    <.f   me. 
and  throw  a  .stone  at  wc  /     When  a  woman  sub- 
mits to  this  once,  she  will  have  them   thrown   at 
her  whenever  she  sin-s  at   the  wron-  time,  and 
she  will  never  know  when  the  ri«;ht  time  is. 

"Then  you  thought  you  were  asked  to  sacri- 
fice it,  and  now  you  have  done  that.  How  do 
I  know  that  some  day  you  mi-ht  not  be  tempted 
to  .sacrifice  me  'f  She  pau.sed.  her  voice  br..-ak- 
ing,  and  remained  silent,  as  il  unable  to  get 
beyond  that  thought. 


135 


V 


\ 


r-tf     ] 


"  II  you  hiivc  rmishcil,"  I  s.iid,  vorv  (luirtlv, 
"  I  h.ivc  sonicthin;;  to  say  to  you,  and  wo  need 
not  meet  alter  this. 

*'  I  trapped  the  bird ;  you  tra|)petl  inc.  I 
understood  you  to  asi<  something';  ol"  me,  to  cast 
me  off  when  I  refused  it.  Such  was  my  faith 
in  vou  that  beneath  your  words  I  did  not  look 
for  a  snare.  How  hard  it  was  for  me  to  for,i;ive 
you  what  you  asi<ed  is  my  own  affair  now;  but 
forgive  you  I  did.  How  hard  it  was  to  p;rant 
it  that  also  is  now,  and  will  always  be,  my  own 
secret.  I  beg  you  merely  to  believe  this  :  know- 
inr;  it  to  be  all  that  yon  have  described  —  and 
far  more  than  you  can  ever  understand  —  still, 
I  did  it.  Had  you  demanded  of  me  something 
worse,  I  should  have  granted  that.  If  you  think 
a  man  will  not  do  wrong  for  a  woman,  you  are 
mistaken.  If  you  think  men  always  love  the 
wrong  that  they  do  for  the  women  whom  they 
love,  you  are  mistaken  again. 

"You  have  held  up  my  faults  to  me.  I  knew 
them  before.  I  have  not  loved  them.  Do  not 
think  that  I  am  trying  to  make  a  virtue  out  of 
anything  I  .say;  but  in  all  my  thoughts  of  you 
there  has  been  no  fault  of  yours  that  I  have  not 
hidden  from  my  sight,  and  have  not  resolved  as 


I 


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I 


S\  \ 


V 


I.-. 


; 


1^6 


host  I  iDiild  never  to  sec.  N'el  do  not  divani 
that  I  have  toiind  you  hiuUless. 

**  \'()ii  tear  I  nii^ht  siieritiee  vou  to  somethin-^-- 
else.  It  is  possible.  I'lvery  man  resists  temp- 
tation only  to  a  certain  jxiint  ;  every  man  has 
his  price.      It  is  a  risk  you  will  run  with  any. 

"If  you  doubt  that  a  man  is  cap:ible  of  .sacri- 
ficin.L;-  one  thini;-  that  he  loves  to  another  that  he 
loves  more,  tempt  him,  lie  in  wait  for  his  weak- 
ness, ensnare  him  in  the  toils  of  his  greater 
passion,  atul  learn  the  truth. 

"I  make  no  defence  —  believe  all  that  you 
say.  liut  had  you  loved  me,  I  mi;;ht  have  been 
all  this,  and  it  would  have  been  nothiu"-  " 

With  this  I  walked  slowly  out  of  the  arbour, 
but  (ieor<;iana  stooil  beside  me.  Her  light 
touch   was  on   my  arm. 

"  Let  me  see  things  clearly!  " 

"  \'ou  have  a  lifetime  in  which  to  see  thiuirs 
clearly,"  I  answered.  "  How  can  that  concern 
me  now.?"     And  I  i)assed  on  into  the  house. 


During  the  morning  I  wandered  restless.  For 
a  while  I  lay  on  the  grass  down  behind  the  pines. 
How  deej)  and  clear  are  the  covered  sjjrings  of 
memory!  All  at  once  it  was  a  morning  in  my 
boyhood  on  my  father's  farm.      I,  a  little  Said 

»37 


i 


I 


.'  r 


1 1 1 


'*'/-M^  •^^S?'^'^7\ '<?''■'•'-;"•  "^'■■'^z 


l-S 


r^v 


^'^^:^- 


fl 


r-'^r.- 


>>-*.' 


^»<^ 


A  i.ini.K  ^.\i  1.  Ill    lAR^rs. 


1^8 


■^•»i;  ~  <■»«>;■"'     r  «li«»iui,a-. 


of  Tarsus  anion-  the  birds,  was  „n  my  wa)-  to 
the    hed-e-rows    and    woods,   as    t.,    Damascus, 
brcathin^r  out  thrcatenin<cs  and  slau^^htcr.    Then 
suddenly  the  childish   miracle,  which   no  d„ul)t 
had   been   pre|)arin^^  silently  within   my   nature, 
urou-ht  itseJt  out;   f..r   horn  the  distam   lorest 
trees,   from    the   old  orchard.   In.m  thicket  and 
fence,  from  th-;  wide  -reen  mead.Avs.  and  down 
out  of  the  depths  of  the  blue  sky  itself,  a  vast 
chorus  of  innocent  creatures  san- to  my  newly 
opened    ears    the    same    wonls:     "Why    per.-e- 
cutest   thou    me?"     Or.e   san-  it   with 'indigna- 
tion ;  another  with   remonstrance;  still   another 
with   resignation  ;  others  yet  with  ethereal  sad- 
ness   or    wild    elusive    pain.       Once    more    the 
house-wren    met    me    at    th.-    rottin-   Kate-jx.st, 
and  cried  aloud,  "/ry-v  r//-A-.v/    -/>.7-.sv-i7/-A.s7  — 
hy-sc-cu-tcst~-pcr-s,-ci,-tcst!  "     And  as  I  peeped 
into  the    brush-pile,    a^ain    the    brown    thrush, 
buildin*,'  within,  said.  ''  tliou—  t/ion —t/iou !'' 

Throu^di  all  the  years  si-n-e  I  h;ul  thou-ht 
myself  chani^ed.  and  craved  no  -reater  olo,.y 
than  to  be  accounted  the  chief  of  their  apostles. 
Hut  now  I  was  stained  once  more  with  the  old 
guilt,  and  once  more  I  could  hear  the  birds  in 
iny  yard  sinuin-  that  old,  old  eiiorus  a-ainst 
man's  inhumanity. 

«39 


\k 


^  1"*  *t  .p>^i^-\ 


I 


\  I.I 


Towards  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  I  went 
away  across  the  country  bv  any  direction  ;  I 
cared  not  what.  On  nn  wa\  l)aik  I  |)assed 
through  a  lar^^e  rear  lot  iK'lonL,^^,^  Id  mv  neigh- 
bour, and  adjoining!;  my  own.  in  which  is  my 
stal)le.  There  lias  lately  been  ini])(Mted  into 
this  part  of  Kentucky  from  l'ji.i;land  the  much- 
prized  l)reed  of  the  beautiful  white  Herkshire. 
As  I  crossed  the  lot,  near  the  milk-tr<)U_L;h,  ash- 
heap,  and  parin_i;s  of  fruit  and  vet;etables  thrown 
fr-m  my  neij;hbour's  kitchen,  I  saw  a  litter  of 
these  pi,i;s  havint;  their  awkward  sport  over 
some  stran,t;e  red  plaything-,  which  one  after 
another  of  them  would  shake  with  all  its  mi,i;ht, 
root  and  tear  at,  or  tread  into  greater  shapeless- 
ness.  It  was  all  there  was  left  of  him.  If  I 
could  have  Ik'cu  spared  the  sij^ht  of  that  ! 

I  entered  mv  Ioul;'  \ard.  The  sun  was  set- 
ting;. Around  me  was  the  last  jieace  and 
beautv  of  the  world.  Throu,i;h  a  narrow  ave- 
nue of  trees  I  could  see  my  house,  and  on  its 
clustering"  vines  fell  the  an,i;rv  red  of  the  sun 
tlartin«;  across  the  cool  <;"reen  fields. 

The  last  hour  of  li.^ht  touches  the  birds  as 
it  touches  us.  When  they  sint;-  in  the  mornini;, 
it  is  with  tlie  hajipiness  of  "the  earth  ;  but  as 
the  shadows  fall  strangely  about  them,  and  the 


>i 


\K 


.ii     1 


s>    \ 


helplessness  of  the  u'l^j^ht.  comes  on,  their  voices 
seem  to  be  lilted  up  like  the  lottiest  poetry  of 
the  human  spirit,  with  sympathy  for  realities 
and  mysteries   j)ast  all   understanding. 

A  ^reat  choir  was  hymnini;  now.  On  the 
tops  of  the  sweet  old  hone\sucUles  the  cat-birds  ; 
robins  in  the  low  bou,:L;hs  of  maj)les;  on  the  hi_L;h 
limb  of  the  elm  the  silvery-throated  lark,  who 
had  stop])ed  as  he  j)assed  from  meadow  to 
meadow  ;  on  a  fence  rail  of  the  distant  wheat- 
field  the  quail  -  and  manv  another.  I  walked 
to  and  fro,  receiving  the  voice  of  each  as  a 
spear  hurled  at  my  body.  The  sun  sank.  The 
shadows  rushed  on  and  deepened.  Suddenly 
as  I  turned  once  more  in  my  path,  I  cau_L;ht 
si;;ht  of  the  fii^ure  of  rieori;iana  moving;  strai,i;ht 
towards  me  from  the  direction  of  the  i^arden. 
She  was  bare-headed,  dressed  in  white;  and  she 
advanced  over  the  smooth  lawn,  through  ever- 
<;-reens  and  shrubs,  with  a  ,L;entle  ,L;race  and  dig- 
nity of  movement  such  as  I  had  never  beheld. 
1  kept  my  weary  pace,  and  when  she  came  up  I 
tlid  not  lift  mv  eves. 

"Adam!"  she  said,  with  j;entle  repioach.  I 
stood  still  then,  but  with  my  face  turned  awav. 

"  I''ori;"ive  me  I  "  All  ,L;irlishness  was  ^one  out 
of  her  voice.      It  was  the  woman  at  last. 

141 


H 


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,i     t 


h  I 


:l 


\    'v 


\  turned  my  lace  iurthcr  *" oin  licr.  atul  \\p 
stood  in  silence. 

"  I  have  suffered  enou^^li,  Adam,"  she  pleaded. 

1  answered  quietly,  do^^j^etlly,  for  there  was 
nttthinL,^  leit  in  me  tt)  appeal  tt)  : 

"  I  am  <^lad  we  can  part  kintlly.  .  .  .  Neither 
of  us  may  care  much  for  the  kindness  now,  hut 
we  will  not  be  sorry  hereafter.  .  .  .  The  cpiar- 
rels,  the  mistakes,  the  ri^ht  and  the  wron^  of 
our  lives,  the  misunderstandin<;s  —  they  are  so 
strange,  so  pitiful,  so  full  of  pain,  and  come  so 
soon  to  nothing."  And  I  lifted  my  hat,  and 
took  the  path  towards  my  house. 

There  was  a  point  ahead  where  it  divided, 
the  other  branch  leadin^^  towards  the  little  pri- 
vate ^^ate  through  which  (leorgiana  had  come. 
Just  before  reaching  the  porch  I  looked  that  way, 
with  the  idea  that  I  should  see  Georgiana's 
white  figure  moving  across  the  lawn ;  but  1 
discovered  that  she  was  ft)llowing  me.  Mount- 
ing my  door-steps,  I  turned.  She  had  paused 
on  the  threshold.  "  waiteil.  At  length  she 
said,  in  a  voice  K...    and  sorrowful: 

"  Arc  you  not  going  to  forgive  me,  Adam  .'* " 

"  I  do  forgive  you  !  "  The  silence  fell  and 
lasted.  I  no  longer  saw  her  face.  At  la.st  her 
despairing  voice  barely  reached  me  again  : 

142 


V 


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^>  ..♦-v 


■*• 


^^V'm;-.  •.si'.... 


'■\     \ 


*-A't  y;J  ,r  -■  .  "^     .■• 


AM)  —  IS —  IHAI  — AM. 


M3 


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fX      \ 


"And  — is  — ///.?/  — all?" 
I  had  no  answer  to  make,  ;    d  sternly  waited 
for  her  to  go. 


SKT   OIK    CANDI.KS    IN   olU    WINDOWS. 

A  moment  longer  she  linge?-ed,  then  turned 
slowly  away  ;  and  I  watched  her  figure  growing 
fainter  and  fainter  till  it  was  lost.  I  sprang 
after  her,  my  voice  rang  out  hollow,  and  broke 
with  terror  and  pain  and  longing : 

144 


11 


♦    ' 


I     \ 


r  i 


aited 


"  rioor<,nanri !     Gcor^^'ana  !  " 

"Oh,  Adam,  A,/,nr.'"  I  heard  her  crv,  with 
low,  picrciiif;  tenderness,  as  slie  ran  back  to  me 
throuj^di  the  darkness. 

When  wc  separated  we  lighted  fresh  candles 
and  set  tliem  in  our  windows,  to  burn  a  jmre 
pathway  of  flame  across  the  intervening  void. 
Henceforth  we  are  like  |)oor  little  foolish  chil- 
dren, sick  and  lonesome  in  the  ni,L;ht  without  one 
another.  Happy,  hapjiy  ni,<;ht  to  come  when 
one  short  candle  will  do  for  us  both  ! 

•         •••.... 

.  .  .  Ah,  but  the  lon<,%  lon^^  silence  of  the 
trees !  .  .  . 


ned 
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I 


-t  W  \ -i  hapjiily  at  work  this  morning 
aniDiiL;"  my  buttcihcans  —  a  vc^ctabl<'  ol  solid 
merit  aiv'  ol  far  ^rratcr  siiitahlt'iu-ss  to  tiiy 
|)alatc'  than  siuh  l)o\inc  wati-ry  <;i()\vths  as  the 
s(|uash  and  the  beet,  (leor^iana  came  t(»  her 
garden   window    and   stood   watehini;  me. 

"  \'oii  work  tho^e  l)utterbeans  as  thoii^di   you 
loved  ///(■>//."  she  said,  seondidlv. 
"  I  do  love  them.      I  love  all  vines." 
"  Arc    \  on    cn!ti\alin^   them    as    \ines    or    as 
vegetal)! es  ?  " 

"  It  makes  no  difference  to  Nature." 
"  Do  you    e.xpeet    me   to  be  a  \ine  when  we 
are  married  ?" 

"  I    h()[)e  you'll    not   turn  out  a   ineri'  vej^i'la- 

149 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)872-4503 


O^ 


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blc.  How  should  you  like  to  be  a  Virginia- 
creeper  ? " 

"  And  what  would  you  be  ?  " 

"  What  would  you  like  ?  A  sort  of  honey- 
suckle frame  ? " 

"  Anything  !  Only  supp(.'t  me  and  give  me 
room  to  bloom." 

I  do  not  always  reply  to  Gcorgiana,  thtnigh 
I  always  could  if  I  chose.  Whenever  I  re- 
main silent  about  anxthing  she  changes  the 
subject. 

"  13id  you  know  that  Sylvia  once  wrote  a 
poem  on  a  vegetable  .-'  " 

"  I  did  not." 

"  You  don't  speak  as  though  you  cared." 

"You    must    know   how   deeply   interested    I 


am. 


"  Then  wh\'  don't  vou  ask  to  see  the  poem  .'' 

"  What  was  it  on  .'  —  butterbeans  ?  " 

"  Sylvia  has  better  taste." 

"  I  suj)i)ose  I'd  better  look  into  this  poem." 

"  You  are  not  to  laugh  at  it." 

"I  shall  weep." 

"  Promise." 

"  What  am  I  to  ]-»romise  ,''  " 

"That  you  will  read  it  without  laughing." 

"I  do  promise — solemnly,  cheerfully." 


\r.. 


•'fti. 


"  Come  and  get  it." 

I  went  over  and  stood  under  the  window. 
Georgiana  soon  returned  and  dropjied  down  to 
nic  a  i)iece  of  writing-paper. 

"  Sylvia  wrote  it  before  she  i)egan  to  '.hink 
about  boys." 

"  It  mu.st  be  a  very  early  poem  of  hers  !  " 

"  It  is;  and  this  is  the  only  eopv  ;  don't  lose 
it." 

"Then  I  think  you  ought  to  take  it  back  at 
once.  Let  me  beg  of  you  not  to  risk  it  —  " 
But  she  was  gone  ;  and  I  turned  to  my  arbour 
and  sat  down  to  read  Sylvia's  poem,  which  I 
found  to  be  in.scribed  to  "The  Potato,"  and  to 
run  as  follows  : 

"  What  on  this  wide  earth 

Tliat  is  made  or  does  h\  nature  •^now 
Is  more  liomely  yel  more  heaiititul 
Than  the  useful  Potato  .' 

''What  would  tliis  world  full  of  people  do, 
Rich  and  ])oor.  hi-h  and  low. 
Were  it  not  for  this  little-thou'dit-of 
JJut  very  necessary  Potato  ? 


'•  True,  "tis  homely  to  look  on. 

Nothim;  pretty  even  in  its  blow, 
But  it  will  bear  acquaintance. 
This  useful  Potato. 


I 


i: 


"  For  when  it  is  cooked  and  oponed 
It's  so  white  and  nullow, 
You  tori^ct  it  ever  was  homely, 
This  useful  I'otalo. 

"  On  the  whole  it  is  ;;  very  plain  plant, 
.M.ikes  no  cons])icuous  sliow. 
But  the  internal  ajjpearance  is  lovely 
Of  the  unostentatious  Potato. 

'•  On  the  land  or  on  tlie  sea, 
Wherever  we  ina\-  gn. 
We  are  alwavs  Lilad  to  welcome 
The  sound  Potato.""  ^ 

In  the  afternoon  I  was  cutting;  .stakes  at  the 
wood-pile  for  my  ])utterbeans,  and  a  bright  idea 
struck  me.  Diu'inL;  my  eni;"at;ement  to  Georgi- 
ana  I  cannot  always  be  darting  in  and  out  of 
Mrs.  Cobb's  front  door  like  a  swallow  through 
a  barn.  Neither  can  I  talk  freely  to  Georgiana 
—  with  her  up  at  the  window  and  me  down  on 
the  ground  —  when  I  wish  to  breathe  into  her 
ear  the  things  that  I  must  utter  or  die.  Besides, 
the  sewinjT-u'irl  whom  Georcfiana    has   engaircd 


'«->  j-> 


ir>' 


is  nearly  always  there.     So  that  as  I  was  in  the 

^  The  elder  Miss  ('n])h  was  wrong  in  thinking  this  poem 
Sylvia's.  It  was  extant  at  the  time  over  the  signature  of 
ani)ther  writer,  whose  authorship  is  not  known  to  have  been 
questioned.  Miss  Sylvia  perhaps  adopted  and  adapted  it  out  of 
admiration,  or  as  a  model  for  her  own  use.  J,  L.  A. 


i     * 


act  of  trininiinj:,^  a  Ion<;  slender  stick,  it  occurred 
to  me  that  I  mij;ht  make  use  of  this  to  elevate 
any  little  notes  that  I  mi_t;ht  wish  to  write. 

I  was  f;reatly  taken  with  the  thought,  and, 
dropping;  my  hand-axe,  hurried  into  the  house 
and  wrote  a  note  to  her  at  once,  which  I  there- 
upon tied  to  the  end  of  the  pole  by  a  short 
strinf^.  But  as  I  started  for  the  garden  this 
arrangement  looked  too  much  like  catching 
Gcorgiana  with  a  bait.  Therefore,  happening 
to  remember,  I  stoi)ped  at  my  tool-house,  where 
I  keep  a  little  of  everything,  and  took  from  a 
peg  a  fine  old  specimen  of  a  goldfinch's  nest. 
This  I  fastened  to  the  end  of  the  pole,  and  hid- 
ing my  note  in  it,  now  felt  better  satisfied.  \o 
one  but  Gcorgiana  herself  would  ever  be  able 
to  lcII  what  it  was  that  I  might  wish  to  lift  up 
to  her  at  any  time;  and  in  case  of  its  being  not 
a  note,  but  a  plum — a  berry  —  a  peach  —  it 
would  be  as  safe  as  it  was  unseen.  This  old 
house  of  a  pair  of  goldfinches  would  thus  be- 
come the  home  of  our  fledgling  hopes  :  every 
day  a  new  brood  of  vows  would  take  flight 
across  its  rim  into  our  bosoms. 

Watching  my  chance  during  the  afternoon, 
when  the  .sewing-girl  was  not  there,  I  rushed 
over  and  pushed  the  stick  up  to  the  window. 

153 


J I  J?  I 


1 


f, 


"  Georgiana,"  I  called  out,  "  feel  in  the 
nest!" 

She  hurried  to  the  window  with  her  sewing 
in  her  arms.  The  nest  swayed  to  and  fro  on 
a  level  with  her  nose. 

"  What  is  it .''  "  she  cried,  drawing  back  with 
extreme  distaste. 

"  Feel  in  it !  "  I  repeated. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  feel  in  it,"  she  said.  "  Take 
it  away  !  " 

"There's  a  young  dove  in  it,"  I  persisted — • 
"  a  young  cooer." 

"  I  don't  wish  any  young  cooers,"  she  said, 
with  a  grimace. 

Seeing  that  she  was  not  of  my  mind,  I  added, 
pleadingly  :  "  It's  a  note  from  me,  Georgiana. 
This  is  going  to  be  our  little  pri\'ate  post- 
office  !  "  Georgiana  sank  back  into  her  chair. 
She  reappeared  with  the  flush  of  aople-blossoms 
and  her  lashes  wet  with  tears  of  laughter.  But 
I  do  not  think  that  she  looked  at  me  unkindly. 
"  Our  little  private  post-office,"  I  persisted, 
confidingly. 

"How  many  more  little  private  things  are 
we  going  to  have.''"  she  inquired,  plaintively. 

"  I  can't  wait  here  forever,"  I  said.  "  This 
is  growing  weather;  I  might  sprout." 

154 


i 


r'-i 


the 


"  A  dry  stick  will  not,"  said  Georgiana,  simply, 
and  went  back  to  her  sewing. 

I  took  the  hint,  and  pro])pcd  the  pole  against 
the  house  under  the  window.  Later,  when  I 
took  it  down,  my  note  was  gone. 

I  have  set  the  pole  under  Georgiana's  window 
several  times  within  the  last  two  (>r  three  days. 
It  looks  like  a  little  di|)-net,  high  and  dry  in 
the  air  ;  but  so  far  as  I  can  see  with  my  unaided 
eye,  it  has  caught  nothing  so  large  as  a  gnat. 
It  has  attracted  no  end  of  attention  from  the 
birds  of  the  neighbourhood,  however,  who  never 
saw  a  goldfinch's  nest  swung  to  the  end  of  a 
leafless  pole  and  placed  where  it  could  be  so 
exactly  reached  by  the  human  hand.  In  par- 
ticular, it  has  fallen  under  the  notice  of  a  pair 
of  wrens,  which  are  like  women,  in  that  they 
usually  have  some  secret  business  behind  their 
curiosity.  The  business  in  this  case  is  the 
matter  of  their  own  nest,  which  they  have 
located  in  a  broken  horse-coUar  in  my  saddle- 
house.  At  such  seasons  they  are  alert  for 
appropriating  building  materials  that  may  have 
been  fetched  to  hand  by  other  birds ;  and  they 
have  already  abstracted  a  piece  of  candle-wick 
from  the  bottom  of  my  post-office. 

Georgiana   has  been  chilly  towards  me   for 

155 


f' 


f 


f»'        ! 


1    '/ 


IV 


two  clays,  and  I  think  is  doin^;  her  best  not  to 
freeze  up  altogether.  I  have  racked  my  brain 
to  know  why  ;  but  I  fear  that  my  brain  is  not 
of  the  sort  to  discover  what  is  the  matter  with 
a  woman  when  nothing  really  is  the  matter. 
Moreover,  as  I  am  now  engaged  to  Georgiana, 
I  have  thought  it  better  that  she  should  begin 
to  bring  her  explanations  to  me  —  the  steady 
sun  that  will  melt  all  her  ui. certain  icicles. 

At  last  this  morning  she  remarked,  but  very 
carelessly,  "You  didn't  answer  my  note." 

"What  note,  Georgiana  .^ "  I  asked,  thunder- 
struck. 

She  gave  mc  such  a  look. 

"Didn't  you  get  the  note  I  put  into  that  — 
into  that  — "  Her  face  grew  pink  with  vexa- 
tion. 

"Did  you  put  a  note  into  the  —  into  the  —  " 
I  could  not  have  spoken  the  word  just  then, 

I  retired  to  my  arbour,  where  I  sat  for  half  an 
hour  with  my  head  in  my  hands.  What  could 
have  become  of  Georgiana's  note  ?  A  hand 
might  have  filched  it ;  unlikely.  A  gust  of  wind 
might  have  whisked  it  out ;  impossible.  I  de- 
bated and  rejected  every  hypothesis  to  the  last 
one.  Acting  upon  this,  I  walked  straight  to  the 
saddle-house,  and  in  a  dark  corner  peered  at  the 

156 


'^l     f 


*'^-= 


t-y 


nest  of  the  wrens.  A  sjieck  of  white  |)a|)cr  was 
visil^le  cinioni;'  the  sticks  and  sha\in,;j,s.  I  tore 
the  nest  out  and  shook  it  to  pieces,  llow  those 
wrens  did  ra^i^e  !  The  note  was  so  torn  and 
miidded  that  I  could  not  read  it.  lUit  sup- 
pose a  jay  had  carried  it  to  the  hi^h  ci'otch 
of  some  locust  !  I  ran  iovfullv  back  to  the 
window. 

"  I've  found  it,  Geor^iana !  "   I  called  out. 

She   appeared,  lookini;    relieved,  but  not  ex- 
actly forgiving. 

"Where.?" 

My  tongue  froze  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth, 

"^  Where  did  you  find  it.''"  she  repeated,  im- 
periously. 

"What  do  you  want  to  know  for .'' "  I   said, 
savagely. 

"  Let  me  see  it !  "  she  demanded. 

My  clasp  on  it  suddenly  tightened. 

"  Let  me  see  it !  "  she  repeated,  with  genuine 
fire. 

'*  WHiat  do  you  want  to  see  it  for  .-*  "   I  said. 

She  turned  away. 

"  Here  it  is,"  I  said,  and  held  it  up. 

She  looked  at  it  a  long  time,  and  her  brows 
arched. 

"  Did  the  mud-daubers  have  it  ? '' 

157 


I 


V.  I 


»    r 


fv'i 


"The  wrens.  It  was  merely  a  chaiif^e  of 
post-office." 

•'  I'd  as  well  write  the  ne.\t  one  to  them,"  she 
said,  "since  they  get  the  letters." 

Geor;;iana  was  well  aware  that  she  slip]:)ed 
the  note  into  the  nest  when  they  were  lookinfj 
and  I  was  not;  but  women  —  ^?// women  —  now 
and  then  hold  a  man  responsible  for  what  they 
have  done  themselves.  Sylvia,  for  instance. 
She  f^rew  peevish  with  me  the  other  day  be- 
cause my  _L,^arden  failed  to  furnish  the  j^articular 
flowers  that  would  have  assuaged  her  whim. 
And  yet  for  days  Sylvia  has  been  helping  hcr- 
.self  with  such  lack  of  stint  that  the  poor  clipj)ed 
and  mangled  bushes  look  at  me  as  I  pass  sym- 
pathetically by  them,  and  say,  "If  you  don't 
kecji  her  away,  we'd  as  well  be  weeds  !  " 

The  truth  is  that  Sylvia's  rampant  session  in 
school,  involving  the  passage  of  the  Greatest 
Common  Divisor  —  far  more  dreadful  than  the 
passage  of  the  Beresina  —  her  blue  rosettes  at 
the  recent  Commencement,  and  the  prospect  of 
a  long  vacation,  together  with  further  miscellany 
appertaining  to  her  age  and  sex,  have  strung 
the  chords  of  her  sentimental  being  up  to  the 
highest  pitch.  Feeling  herself  to  be  naturally 
a  good  instrument  and  now  perfectly  in  tunc, 

158 


SYI.MA   AND    lUE   (iUSI.l.NG. 


159 


/ 


l.J  ■ 


I 


Sylviii  rccjuiros  that  she  shall  be  continually 
played  upon  —  if  not  by  one  person,  then  by 
another.  Xatuic  overloads  a  tendency  in  order 
to  make  it  carry  straij^ht  aloni;  its  course  a^^ainst 
the  interference  of  other  te  ulencies  ;  and  she 
will  sometimes  provide  a  j^irl  with  a  ,L;reat  many 
youn^  men,  at  the  start,  in  order  that  she  may 
be  sure  of  one  husband  in  the  end.  The  pre- 
cautionary swarm  in  Sylvia's  case  seems  multi- 
tudinous enou«;h  to  su|)|)ly  her  with  successive 
husbands  to  the  end  of  her  vlays  and  in  the 
teeth  of  all  known  estimates  of  masculine  mor- 
tality.    I  low  unlike  Geor<;iana  ! 

I  think  of  Ge()rj;"iana  as  the  sinj;le  peach  on 
a  tree  in  a  season  when  they  are  rarest.  Not  a 
very  larj^e  peach,  and  scarcely  yet  yielding  a 
blush  to  the  sun,  although  its  long  summer  heat 
is  on  the  wane ;  growing  high  in  the  air  at  the 
end  of  a  bough  and  clustered  about  by  its  shin- 
ing leaves.  Hut  what  beauty,  purity,  freshness  ! 
You  must  hunt  to  find  it  and  climb  to  reach  it ; 
but  when  you  get  it,  you  get  it  all  —  there  is  not 
a  trace  left  for  another.  But  Sylvia !  I  am 
afraid  Sylvia  is  like  a  big  bunch  of  grapes  that 
hangs  low  above  a  public  pathway:  each  passerby 
reaches  up  and  takes  a  grape. 

I  caught  some  one  taking  a  grape  the  other 

1 60 


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DKol'i'Ki.    HIM    c,i  x    i-s,r()   THE   SI  RKKT, 

M  i6i 


/> 


I; 


/•■'i 


evening;  —  a  sort  of  green  grape.  Sylvia  had 
been  sending  bouquets  to  the  gosHng  who  was 
her  escort  on  the  evening  of  her  Commencement 

—  him  of  the  duck  trousers  and  webbed  feet. 
On  one  occasion  I  have  observed  her  walking 
along  the  borders  of  my  garden  in  his  com- 
pany and  have  overheard  her  telling  him  that 
he  could  come  in  and  get  flowers  whenever  he 
wished. 

To  cap  the  climax,  after  twilight  on  the  even- 
ing in  question,  I  st;  ^llcd  out  to  my  arbour  for  a 
quiet  hour  with  thoughts  of  Georgiana.  Whom 
should  I  surprise  in  there  but  Sylvia  and  the 
gosling!  deep  in  the  shadow  of  the  vines.  He 
had  his  arm  around  her  and  was  kissing  her. 

"  Upon  my  honour ! "  I  said  ;  and  striding  over 
to  him  I  thrust  my  hand  under  his  coat-tails, 
gripped  him  by  the  seat  of  his  ducks,  dragged 
him  head  downward  to  the  front  fence  and 
dropped  him  out  into  the  street. 

"  Let  me  catch  you  in  here  kissing  anybody 
again  !  "  I  said. 

He  had  bit  me  viciously  on  one  of  my  calves 

—  which  are  sizable  —  as  I  had  dragged  him 
along;  so  that  I  had  been  forced  to  stoop  down 
and  twist  him  loose  by  screwing  the  end  of  his 
spongy  nose.     I  met  him  on  the  street  early  the 

162 


next  morning,  and  it  wore  tiic  hue  (,f  a  wild  plum 
:n  Its  ripeness.     I  tapped  it. 


v.r'i    r.- 


r-.    .^ 


■■^- 


1    lAI'l'ED    IT. 


^-^S^ 


.n-t.^ 


"Only   three   persons    know  of   your   misbe- 
haviour last  night,"  I  said.    "  If  you  ever  breathe 

163 


ih    ! 


11 


/,'! 


■  \ ' 

i 


.!»■ 


it  to  a  soul  that  you  soiled  that  child  by  your 
touch,  the  next  time  I  get  hold  of  you  it  will  not 
be  your  nose  :  it  will  be  your  neck  !  " 

My  mortification  at  Svlvia's  laxness  was  so 
keen  that  I  should  have  forborne  returning  to 
the  arbour  had  I  not  felt  assured  that  she  must 
have  escaped  to  the  house  through  modesty  and 
sheer  shame.     But  she  had  not  budged. 

"  I  blush  for  you,  Sylvia  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  I 
know  all  about  that  fellow  !  He  shouldn't  kiss 
—  my  old  cat !  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  yo?c  have  to  do  with  it !  " 
said  Sylvia,  placidly.  "And  I  have  waited  to 
tell  you  that  I  hope  you  will  never  interrupt 
me  again  when  I  am  engaged  in  entertaining 
a  young  gentleman." 

"  Sylvia,  my  dear  child  !  "  I  said,  gravely,  sit- 
ting down  beside  her.     "  How  old  arc  you  .-'  " 

"  I  am  of  the  proper  age  to  manage  my  own 
affairs,"  said  Sylvia,  "  with  the  assistance  of  my 
immediate  family." 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  you  are,"  I  replied. 
"  And  since  your  brother  is  at  West  Point,  there 
is  one  thing  that  I  am  going  to  take  the  liberty 
of  telling  you,  which  the  other  members  of  your 
family  may  not  fully  understand.  If  you  were 
younger,  Sylvia,  you  might  do  a  good  deal  of 

164 


this  and  not  be  hurt  by  it ;  or  ycui  mij^ht  not  be 
hurt  by  it  if  you  were  a  i^ood  deal  older  ;  but  at 
your  age  it  is  terrible  ;  in  time  it  will  affect  your 
character." 

"  Mow  old  must  I  be  ?  "  said  Sylvia,  wickedly. 

"Well,  in  your  case,"  I  replied  warmly,  a 
little  nettled  by  her  tone,  "  you'd  better  abstain 
altogether." 

"  And  in  your  case  ?  "  said  Sylvia. 

"  Never  mind  my  case  !  "  I  retorted. 

"  But  I  do  mind  it  when  I  suffer  bv  it,"  said 
Sylvia.  "  I  do  mind  it  if  it's  going  to  affect  my 
character !  " 

"You  know  very  well,  Sylvia,"  I  replied, 
"  that  I  never  kissed  you  but  three  times,  and 
then  as  a  brother." 

"  I  do  not  wish  any  one  but  my  brother  to 
kiss  me  in  that  way,"  said  Sylvia,  with  .^  pout  of 
disappointment. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  this  was  a  fitting  time 
to  guide  Sylvia's  powers  of  discrimination  as  to 
the  way  she  should  act  with  indifferent  men  — 
and  as  to  the  way  that  different  men  would  try 
to  act  with  her. 

I  had  been  talking  to  her  in  a  low  tone  I  do 
not  know  how  long.  Her  ill-nature  had  quickly 
vanished ;    she   was,    in    her    way,    provoking, 

165 


/:\ 


P.'J 


V    ) 


^ 


?  ^s<;:?= 


f-- 


/'"^■V--^- 
i."?^ 


-*.<:^^ 


'^^:^S^^|^ 


"bYLVIA,  MY  DEAR  CHILD,   HOW  OLD  ARE  YOU?" 

1 66 


charming.  I  wr.s  sitting  close  to  her.  The 
moonhght  played  upon  her  daring,  wilful  face 
through  the  leaves  of  the  grape-vines.  It  was 
unpremeditated  ;  my  nature  was,  most  probably, 
unstrung  at  the  instant  by  ungratified  longings 
for  Georgiana ;  but  suddenly  I  bent  down  and 
kissed  her. 

Instantly  both  Sylvia  and  I  started  from  the 
scat.  How  long  Georgiana  had  been  standing  in 
the  entrance  to  the  arbour  I  do  not  know.  She 
may  that  instant  have  come.  ]^ut  there  she  was, 
dres.sed  in  white  — pure,  majestic,  with  the  moon 
shining  behind  her,  shedding  about  her  the  radi- 
ance  of  a  heavenly  veil. 

"  Come,  Sylvia,"  she  said,  with  perfect  sweet- 
ness  ;  and,  bidding  me  good-night  with  the  same 
gentlewoman's  calm,  she  placed  her  arm  about 
the  child's  waist,  and  the  two  sisters  passed 
slowly  and  silently  out  of  my  garden. 

At  that  moment,  if  I  could  have  squeezed 
myself  into  the  little  screech-owl  perched  in  a 
corner  of  the  arbour,  I  would  gladly  have  crept 
into  the  hollow  of  an  oak  and  closed  my  eyes. 
Still,  how  was  I  to  foresee  what  I  should  do .?  A 
man's  conversation  may  be  his  own  ;  his  conduct 
may  vibrate  with  the  extinct  movements  of  his 
ancestors. 

167 


M 


I 


f: 


w- 


Georf^iana's  behaviour  then  was  merely  the 
forerunner  of  lar^^er  marvels.  For  next  morn- 
iuL,^  I  wrote  a  futile  drastie  treatise  on  Woman's 
inability  to  understand  Man  and  Man's  inability 
to  understand  Himself,  and  set  it  under  her 
window.  It  made  such  a  roll  of  pajjer  that  the 
<;oldfinch's  nest  looked  as  thoui;h  it  were  distent 
with  a  sort  of  misshapen  ostrich  fgg.  All  day 
I  waited  with  a  heart  as  silent  as  a  great  clock 
run  down  ;  my  system  of  philosophy  swung 
dead  in  the  air.  To  my  tortured  vision  as  I 
eyed  it  secretly  from  my  porch,  it  took  on  the 
semblance  of  one  of  Sylvia's  ])oetical  potatoes, 
and  I  found  myself  urging  in  its  behalf  Sylvia's 
fondest  epithets  :  "  how  homely,  yet  how  beau- 
tiful," "little  thoughtof,  but  very  necessary,"  "un- 
ostentatious, but  lovely  internal  appearance." 

Towards  sunset  I  took  it  sadly  down.  On 
top  of  the  nest  lay  Georgiana's  old  scarlet 
emery-bag  stuck  fuli  of  her  needles !  She 
had  divined  what  all  the  writing  meant  and 
would  not  have  it.  Instead  she  sent  me  this 
emblem  not  onlv  of  her  fi^rgivene.'^s,  but  of  her 
surrender.  When  a  man  expects  a  woman  to 
scold  him  and  she  does  not,  he  either  gets  to 
be  a  little  afraid  of  her  morally  or  he  wants 
to  take  her  in  his  arms.     Henceforth,  if  Georgi- 

i68 


r  .-ii 


ana  were  removed  to  another  planet,  I  would 
rather  worship  her  there  simply  as  my  evening 
or  morning  star  than  eoexist  with  anv  earthlv 
woman.  One  thought  besets  me :  did  she 
realize  that  perhaps  she  herself  was  the  cause 
of  my  misdemeanours  with  Sylvia?  lias  she 
the  penetration  to  discover  that  when  a  woman 
is  engaged  to  a  man  she  cannot  deny  him  all 
things  except  at  her  own  peril  ? 

This  proof  of  her  high-mindedness  and  the 
enchanting  glimpses  of  her  face  that  she  has 
vouchsafed  me  since,  goaded  me  yesterday 
morning  to  despatch  a  reckless  note:  "Will 
you  come  to  the  arbour  for  a  little  while  to- 
night? I  have  never  dared  ask  this  before, 
but  you  know  how  I  have  desired  it.  It  is  so 
much  more  private  there.  Write  on  the  back 
of  this  paper  one  word,  '  Ves.'  There  is  a 
pencil  in  the  nest." 

The  .shutters  were  nearly  closed,  but  I  caught 
sight  of  the  curve  of  a  shoulder  and  the  move- 
ment of  a  busy  hand.  As  I  pushed  the  note 
up  I  said  : 

"  Read  it  at  once.     I  am  waiting." 

A  hand  came  out  and  took  in  the  note,  then 
the  pencil ;  then  note  and  pencil  were  put  back. 
On  the  former  was  written,  "Yes." 

169 


I  ', 


i^ 


ifl 


;/f 


I' 


%    T' 


I  think  I  must  Viavc  done  a  dozen  thinfjs  in 
five  minutes,  and  then  I  started  aimlessly  off  to 
town.     On  the  way  I  met  Georgiana. 

"  Good  God,  Georgiana!  "  I  exclaimed.  **  You 
here?" 

"  Where  else  }  "  said  she.     "  And  why  not }  " 

"I  thought  I  just  saw  you  at  the  window 
— "  And  then  my  awful  soul  within  me 
said:  "  Il-sh-sh-sh  !  Not  a  word  of  this  to  a 
human  being  !  " 

After  sui)per  l'<<t  night  I  called  old  Jack  and 
Dilsy  into  the  garden,  and  led  them  around  it, 
giving  orders ;  thence  to  the  arbour,  where  I 
bade  them  sit  down. 

In  the  year  of  icSo5  Mr.  Jefferson,  as  presi- 
dent of  the  Philosophical  Society,  ordered  exca- 
vations to  be  made  at  Big  Bone  Lick  in  Ken- 
tucky to'"  the  .skeletons  of  extinct  animals.  My 
father,  who  was  interested  in  antiquities,  had 
had  much  correspondence  with  Mr.  Jefferson 
in  regard  to  earlier  discoveries  at  that  spot ; 
and  when  this  expedition  was  undertaken  he 
formed  one  of  the  explorers.  Jack,  his  servant, 
at  that  time  a  strapping  young  fellow,  had  been 
taken  along  as  one  of  the  negroes  who  were  to 
do  the  digging. 

The   wonders   then    unearthed   have   always 

170 


been  the  -recncst  spot  in  old  Jack's  memory; 
so    that    they  have    been    or„u-in<;    lar-cr   ever 
since.     Whenever  I  wish  to  hear  him  discourse 
with  the   dogmatic  bluster  of  a  sa-e  who  had 
original  information   as  to    geological   times,  I 
set    Jack    to    talking    abcuit    the    bones    of    the 
Mastoc/on-Mnximns,  the  name  of  which  he  gets 
from   me,    with   a   puzzled    shake   of    his   head, 
about  regularly  once  a  year.     It  is  my  private 
oi)inion  that  old    ^ick  believes  l^ig   l^one  Lick 
to  have  been  the  place  where  the  Ark  settled, 
and   these   to   have  been  the  bones  of  animals 
that  had  been  swept  out  by  Noah  on  landing. 

Last  night  I  had  merely  to  ask  him  whether 
he  credited  the  story  of  an  old  traveller  that  he 
had  once  used  some  ribs  found  there  for  his 
tent-poles  and  a  tooth  for  his  hominy  beater; 
whereupon  Dilsy,  foreseeing  what  was  coming,' 
excused  herself  on  the  plea  of  sudden  rheuma- 
tism and  went  to  bed,  as  I  wished  she  should. 

The  hinges  on  the  little  private  gate  under 
Georgiana's  window  I  keep  rusty;  this  enables 
me  to  note  when  any  one  enters  my  garden,  l^y- 
and-by  I  heard  the  hinges  softly  creak,  where- 
upon  1  feigned  not  to  believe  what  Jack  was 
telling  me;  whereupon  he  fell  into  an  harangue 
of  such  affectionate  and   sustained  vehemence 


i    1. 


r 


/ 


that  when  the  hinges  creaked  a^ain  I  was  never 
al)le  to  determine.  Was  ever  such  usa^e  made 
before  of  an  antedihivian  monster? 

To-day  the  sewin^^-f^irl  thrust  out  spiteful 
faces  at  me  several   times. 

She  is  the  one  that  helped  Geor<,dana  last 
year  when  she  was  makin<;  her  wedding-clothes 
to  marry  the  West  Point  cousin.  God  keep  him 
safely  in  the  distance,  or  <.,aii(le  him  firmly  to  the 
van  of  war!  How  does  a  woman  feel  when  she 
is  makin<;  her  weddiui^-clothes  for  the  second 
time  and  for  another  man  ?  I  know  very  well 
how  the  other  man  feels.  Upon  my  ur<;ing 
Geor<;"iana  to  marry  me  at  once  —  nature  does 
not  recoi^ni/.e  engagements  ;  they  are  a  device 
of  civilization  —  she  protested  : 

"  But  I  must  get  ready  !     Think  of  the  sew- 


ing! 


"  Oh,  bother  !  "  I  grumbled.  "  Where  are  all 
those  clothes  that  you  made  last  year  ? " 

How  was  I  to  suppose  that  Georgiana  must 
have  everything  made  over  as  part  of  her  feel- 
ing for  me  ?  I  would  not  decree  it  otherwise ; 
yet  I  question  whether  this  delicacy  may  not 
impose  reciprocal  obligations,  and  remove  from 
my  life  certain  elements  of  abiding  comfort. 
What  if  it  should  engender  a  prejudice  against 

172 


my  own  time-worn  acciuaintanccs  —  the  famil- 
iars of  my  fireside?  It  mi,i;ht  be  justifiable 
sa<;acity  in  me  to  keep  them  locked  r.p  for  the 
first  year  or  so  after  (leor,i;iana  and  I  become  a 
diiine  beinj;  ;  and,  uj)on  the  whole,  she  should 
never  know  what  may  have  been  the  premarital 
shortcoming's  of  my  wardrobe  as  respects  thin.i;s 
unseen.  \o  matter  how  well  a  bachelor  may 
apjiear  dressed,  there  is  no  tellin,i;  what  he  con- 
ceals as  to  his  beini;  darned  or  undarned.  I 
feel  sure  that  the  retrospective  discoverv  of  a 
ravcllin<;  v.-ould  somehow  displease  (ieor^Mana 
as  a  feature  of  our  courtshi|).  \ature  is  \ery 
strinj^ent  here,  very  <;uarded,  truly  universal. 
Invariably  the  youn_i;  men  of  mv  dav  L;row 
lavish  in  the  use  of  un<j;uents  when  they  are 
preparing  for  natural  selection;  and  I  flatter 
myself  that  even  my  own  garments  — in  their 
superficial  aspects  at  least,  and  during  my  long- 
pursuit  of  Georgiana  —  have  not  been  very  far 
from  somewhat  slightly  ingratiating. 

This  pursuit  is  now  drawing  to  a  close.  It 
,s  nearly  the  last  of  June.  She  has  given  me 
her  word  that  she  will  marry  me  early  in  Sep- 
tember. Two  months  for  her  to  get  the  bridal 
feathers  ready ;  two  for  me  to  prepare  the  nest. 

I  have  not  yet  breathed  our  engagement  to 

^72> 


I 


t  \ 


Mrs.  Walters.  To  tell  her  and  not  expect  her 
to  tell  would  be  like  ^ivin^^  a  thiinii)  to  the  dry 
head  of  a  thistle  on  a  breezy  day  and  not  ex- 
jiectinj;  the  seed  to  gu  flying  off  in  a  hundred 
directions. 


%     T 


I  1' 


174 


::i  > 


N7> 


II 


I 

fr^  HAVE  forgotten  Nature. 

I     barely     know     that 

July,  now  nearly  gone, 

has  passed,  sifted  with 

sweetness     and    ablaze 

with    light.      Time    has 

swejit  on,  the  world  run 

round;  but  I  have  stood 

motionles.s,  abiding  the 

hour  of  my  marriage  as  a  tree  the  season  of  its 

leaves.      P^or  all  that  it  looks   so  calm,  within 

175 


\ 


I) 


M 


?■; 


<;ocs  ,)n  a  tremendous  sur'^iiiLj  of   sap   against 
its  moments  of  efllorescence. 

After  which  I  i)ray  that,  not  as  a  tree,  l)ut 
as  a  man,  I  may  have  a  little  ])eace.  When 
(leor^Mana  confessed  her  love,  I  had  siii^jjosed 
this  confession  to  mark  the  end  of  her  elusive- 
ness.  When  later  on  she  presented  to  me  the 
symbol  of  a  heart  i)ierced  with  needles,  I  had 
taken  it  for  <;ranted  that  thenceforth  she  would 
settle  down  into  somethini;  like  a  state  of  j^re- 
nuptial  domestication,  j^rowini;  less  like  a  swift 
and  more  like  a  hen.  Hut  there  is  nothini;  <;al- 
linaceous  about  my  (ieor_i;iana.  I  took  posses- 
sion of  her  vow  and  the  emery-ball,  not  of  her; 
the  i)rivilei;e  was  merely  ^iven  to  ])lant  my  fla<;- 
staff  on  the  uncertain  edge  of  im  unknown  land. 
In  war  it  sometimes  becomes  necessary  to  devas- 
tate a  whole  country  in  order  to  control  a  single 
point :  I  should  be  pleased  to  learn  what  portion 
of  the  earth's  surface  I  am  required  to  subdue 
ere  I  shall  hold  one  little  citadel. 

As  for  me,  Georgiana  requires  that  I  shall  be 
a  good  deal  like  an  old  rock  jutting  out  of  the 
quiet  earth  :  never  ruffled,  never  changing  either 
on  the  surface  or  at  heart,  bearing  whatever  falls 
upon  me,  be  it  frost  or  sun,  and  warranted  to 
waste  away  only  by  a  sort  of  impersonal  disinte- 

176 


.    ?  ,|  H' 


gra..„„  at  the  rate  of  half  an  inch  .o  the  th„u. 

pn    lege  o    dwdhn.  „..„•  as  the  dch^htal  cav. 
"f  the  wnuls.     The  part  of  wi.s.lon,  in  n,e  then 
not  to  heed  each  sallyin.  .^ust.  bnt  to  capture 
the  cave  and  drive  the  winds  auav 

t,,^;' ."'"°"'"  ^^■'^»"'  I  have  bel'ieved:   I  know 
at  th,s  n,yr,ad  caprice  is  but  the  deepening  of 

X    ten,ent  on  the  ver,e  of  captivity  ;    I  know 

''^-n  ahead  ,,c  the  regions  ,,f  perpetna,  caIn, 
—  my  Islands  ol  the  lilest. 

Geor.^iana  does  not  play  npon  the  pianoforte 
or,  as  Mrs.  Walters  wonid  declare,  she  does  n  ; 
per  or„,  upon  the  instrument.     Sylvia  does;  she 
performs,  she  e.vecutes.     There  are  times  when 
■she  w,  1  e.vecute  a  piece  calle.l  -The  Last  Hope'' 
".«,,  the  neishbours  are  lii.ed  with  despair  and 
Kady  to  stretch  their  heads  on  the  block  to  any 
-ore   mercful  executioner.     Xor  does  Geor,,K 
ana  s,ns  to  con,pany  in  the  parlour.     That  "is 
^ylv;asg,ft;    aud   upon  the  whole  it  was  this 

"nnnt,gated  practice  in  the  bo.som-and  in  the 
ca,s_of  her  fan,ily  that  enabled  .Sylvia  to 
shn.e  w,tn  such  vocal  effulgence  in  the  pro- 
ces.s,o„  on  the  last  I-ourth  of  July  and  <,e™te 

N  177 


\l 


.1 


\    I 


I IJ)  I 


Hut  Georgiana  I   have  never  known  to  sing 
except  when  sewing  and  alone,  as  the  way  of 


~zzr       „_  t 


i.V 


SVIAiA    rKKl'DKMINi; 


women    often    is.     During    a    walk   aeross   the 
summer  fields  my  foot  has  sometimes  paused  at 

i;8 


\  '• 


of 


le 
It 


the  brink  of  a  silvery  runlet,  and  T  have  followed 
it  backward  in  search  of  the  sprin-  It  niav 
lead  to  the  edo-e  of  a  dark  wood  ;  thence  inward 
deeper  and  deeper;  disappearing  at  last  in  a 
nook  of  coolness  and  shad..w,  -rcen  leaves  and 
mystery.  The  overheard  rill  of  (^.eor-iana's 
voice  issues  from  inner  dej)ths  of  beini;-  that  no 
human  soul  has  ever  visited,  or  perhaps  will  ever 
visit.  What  would  I  not  -ive  to  thread  my  way, 
bidden  and  alone,  to  that  far  re-ion  of  uncap- 
tured  loveliness? 

Of  late  some  of  the  overheard  lullabies  have 
touched  me  inexpressibly.  They  beat  ui.on  my 
ear  like  the  musical  reveries  of  future  mother- 
hood —  they  betoken  in  (leor-iana's  maiden- 
hood the  dreaminf,^  unrest  of  the  maternal. 

One  mornini^r  not  Ion-  a-o,  with  a  sort  of  piti- 
ful -ayety,  her  .son-  ran  in  the  wise  of  sayin- 
how  we  should  -ather  our  rosebuds  whilJ  we 
may.  The  warnin-  could  not  have  been  ad- 
dressed to  me  ;  I  shall  -ather  mine  while  I  may 
—  the  unrifled  rose  of  (]eor-iana\s  life,  heart 
and  .spirit. 

Naturally  she  and  1  have  avoided  the  subject 
of  the  Cardinal.  J^ut  to  the  tra-edy  of  his  death 
was  joined  one  circumstance  of  such  coarse  and 
brutal  unconcern  that  it  had  left  me  not  only 

1/9 


I): 


«     f 


remorseful  but  resentful.  As  we  sat  together 
the  other  evening,  after  one  of  those  silences 
that  fall  unregarded  between  us,  I  could  no 
longer  forbear  to  fice  an  understanding. 

"  Georgiana,"  I  said,  "do  you  know  what 
became  of  the  red-bird  ?  " 

Unwittingly  tlie  colour  of  reproach  must  have 
lain  u])on  my  words,  for  she  answered  quickly 
with  yet  more  in  hers  — 

"  I  had  it  buried  !  " 

It  was  my  turn  to  be  surprised. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure.  I  told  them  where  to  bury  it;  I 
showed  them  the  very  s})ot  —  under  the  cedar. 
They  told  me  they  had.     Why  .?  " 

I  thought  it  better  that  she  should  learn  the 
truth. 

"  You  know  we  can't  trust  our  negroes.  They 
disobeyed  you.  They  lied  to  you  ;  they  never 
buried  it.  They  threw  it  on  the  ash-pile.  The 
pigs  tore  it  to  pieces ;  I  saw  them  ;  they  were 
rooting  at  it  and  tearing  it  to  pieces." 

She  had  clasped  her  hands,  and  turned 
towards  me  in  acute  distress.  After  a  while, 
with  her  face  aside,  she  said,  slowly  — 

"  And  you  have  believed  that  I  knew  of  this 
—  that  I  permitted  it?" 

1 80 


\\] 


"1  have  bcKcvcd  nothin^^     I   have  waited  to 
understand." 

^^  A  few  minutes  later  she  said,  as  if  to  herself. 
"Many  a  person  would  have  been  only  too  -dad 
to  believe  it,  and  to  blame  me."  Then  foldin- 
her  hands  over  one  of  mine,  she  said,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes : 

"Promi.se  me  — promise  me,  Adam,  until  we 
are  married,  and  -yes,  after  we  are  married  - 
as  long  as  I  live,  that  you  will  never  believe  any- 
thm-  of  me  until  you  know  that  it  is  true  !  " 

"I  do  promise,  dear,  dear,  dearest  one'"  I 
cried,  trying  to  draw  her  to  me,  but  she  would 
not  permit  it.     "And  you.?" 

"I  shall  never   misunderstand,"  she  replied 
as  with  a  flash  of  white  in.vard  liohl.     "  I  knovJ 
that  you  can  never  do  anything  that  will  make 
me  thmk  the  less  of  you." 


Smce  the  sad,  sad  day  on  which  I  caused  the 
death  of  the  Cardinal,  I  have  paid  little  heed  to 
the  birds.  The  subject  has  been  a  sore  one 
Besides,  my  whole  life  is  gradually  changing 
under  the  influence  of  Georgiana,  who  draws 
me  farther  and  farther  away  from  Nature,  and 
nearer  and  nearer  to  my  own  kind. 

When,  two   years  ago.  she  moved   into   this 

i8i 


I) 


t    1 


part  of  the  State,  I  dwelt  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town  and  of  humanity.  On  the  side  of  them  lay 
the  sour  land  of  my  prose ;  the  country,  nature, 
rolled  away  on  the  other  side  as  the  sweet  deep 
ocean  of  my  poetry,  I  called  my  neighbours 
my  manifestations  of  prose  ;  my  doings  with  the 
townspeople,  prose  passages.  The  manifesta- 
tions and  passages  scarce  made  a  scrimp  vol- 
ume. There  was  Jacob,  who  lived  on  his 
symptoms  and  died  without  any ;  there  ..  :\s 
and  there  is  Mrs.  Walters —  may  she  last  to  the 
age  of  the  eagle.  In  town,  a  couple  of  prose 
items  of  cheap  quality :  an  old  preacher  who 
was  willing  to  save  my  soul  while  my  strawber- 
ries were  ripe,  and  an  o'd  doctor  who  cared  to 
save  my  body  so  long  as  he  could  eat  my  pears 
—  with  others  interested  severally  in  my  aspara- 
gus, my  rhubarb,  my  lilies,  and  sweet-peas. 
Ahvays  not  forgetting  a  few  inestimably  whole- 
some, cheery,  noble  souls,  who  sought  me  out 
on  the  edge  of  human  life  rather  than  succeeded 
in  drawing  me  over  the  edge  towards  the  centre. 
But  this  Georgiana  has  been  doing  —  long 
without  my  knowing  it.  I  have  become  less  a 
woodsman,  more  a  civilian.  Unless  she  relents, 
it  rray  end  in  my  ceasing  to  be  a  lover  of  birds, 
and  running  for  the  legislature.     Seeing  me  so 

182 


i     ' 


much  on  the  streets,  one  of  my  fellow-townsmen 
declared  the  other  day  that  if  I  would  consent 
to  come  out  of  the  cane-brakes  for  -ood  they 
would  make  me  j^ostmaster. 

It  has  fallen  awkwardly  for  me  that  this 
enforced  transformation  in  my  tastes  and  habits 
should  coincide  with  the  season  of  my  love- 
makin^i,^;  and  it  is  well  that  (leor-iana  does  not 
demand  in  me  the  caperin^i;-  or  struttini;  manners 
of  those  youno-  men  of  my  day  who  likewise  are 
exerting  themselves  to  marry.  I  am  more  like 
a  badger  than  like  one  of  them  ;  and  indeed  I 
find  the  image  of  my  fate  and  my  condition  in  a 
badger-like  creature  close  at  hand. 

For  the  carpenter  who  is  at  work  uj)on  bridal 
repairs  in  my  house  has  the  fancy  not  uncommon 
among  a  class  hereabouts  to  keep  a  tamed  rac- 
coon. He  brings  it  with  him  daily,  and  fastens 
it  by  its  chain  to  a  tree  in  my  front  yard:  a 
rough,  burly,  knowing  fellow,  loving  wild  nature, 
but  forced  to  acquire  the  tediousness  of  civiliza- 
tion ;  meantime  leading  a  desperately  hampered 
life ;  wondering  at  his  own  teeth  and  claws,  and 
sorely  put  to  it  to  invent  a  decent  occui)ation. 
So  am  I ;  and  as  the  raccoon  paces  everywhere 
after  the  carpenter,  so  do  I  in  spirit  pace  every- 
where after  Georgiana ;   only  his   chain   seems 

183 


) 


'I 


^[li\ 


i 


"p 


longer  and  more  easily  to  be  broken.  The  rest- 
less beast  enlivens  his  captivity  by  the  keenest 
scrutiny  of  every  object  within  his  range  ;  I  too 
have  busied  myself  with  the  few  people  that 
have  come  this  way. 

First,  early  in  the  month  Georgiana's  brother 
—  down  from  West  Point,  very  stately,  and  with 
his  brow  stern,  as  if  for  gory  war.  When  I 
called  promj^tly  to  j)ay  my  rcsjiects,  as  his 
brother-in-law  to  be,  he  was  sitting  on  the  front 
porch  surrounded  by  a  subdued  family,  Cicor- 
giana  alone  remaining  unawed.  He  looked  me 
over  indifferently,  as  though  I  were  a  species  of 
ancient  earthworks  not  worth  any  more  special 
reconnoissance,  and  continued  his  most  superior 
remarks  to  his  mother  on  the  approaching  visit 
of  three  generals. 

Upon  leaving  I  invited  him  to  join  me  on 
the  morrow  in  a  squirrel  hunt  with  small-bores, 
whereupon  he  manifested  sur])rise  that  I  was 
acquainted  with  the  use  of  firearms.  Where- 
upon I  remarked  that  I  would  sometimes  hit 
big  game  if  it  were  so  close  that  I  could  not 
miss  it,  and  further  urged  him  to  have  breakfast 
with  me  at  a  very  early  hour  in  order  that  we 
might  reach  the  woods  while  the  squirrels  were 
at  theirs. 

184 


■■=-13 


''m-' 


m.v 


HE  WAS   SITTING   ON   THE    I-RuNT   PORCH. 
185 


I 


\ 


''^ 


/  (I 


(/ 


91 


V  i' 


Ji 


\ 


li; 


ill? 

I    ' 

11  i' 


i 


ly 


Goin^^  home,  I  knocked  at  the  c:ibiii  where 
Tack  and  Dilsv  lav  siioriiiL;  side  bv  s'de  with 
the  velocity  ol  ri\al  saw-mills,  and  bef;,L;;ed  Uilsy 
to  <;i\-e  me  a  bite  abont  dii\break — coffee  and 
corn-batter  cakes  — •  sa\in:j;  that  I  conld  i;et 
breakfast  when  I  retnrned.  I  shared  this  scLint 
bile  with  my  )'onnL;'  soldier — to  Dilsy's  abject 
mottification,  I  not  haxiiiL;"  told  her  oi  his  com- 
in<;'.  Then  we  set  off  at  a  brisk  pai-e  towards  a 
;j;reat  forest  south  of  the  town  some  fwc  miles 
awa\',  where  the  s(|uinels  had  aii|)eared  and 
were  doini;'  j;reat  dama^;e,  beini;-  the  last  of  a 
countless  plai^ue  of  them  that  o\ei"ran  northern 
and  central  Kentuckv  a  year  a,L;(). 

On  the  wav  I  dra,L;\L;ed  him  through  several 
cane-brakes,  a  thicket  of  l)lackbci"r\'  ;  ke|)t  him 
out  all  dav;  said  not  a  word  about  dinner; 
avoided  e\ery  spot  whei'e  he  could  ha\e  ^t;otten 
a  swallow  of  water;  not  once  sat  down  to  rest; 
towai'ds  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  told  liim  I 
desired  to  take  enough  scpiirrels  home  to  make 
Jack  a  s(|uirrel-skin  overcoat,  and  asked  him  to 
carry  while  I  killed  ;  loailed  him  with  S(|uirrels, 
neck,  shoulders,  ])reast,  back  and  loins,  till  as  he 
moved  he  tottered  and  swayed  like  a  squirrel 
pyramid ;  about  sundown  challeni^ed  him  to 
wdiat  he  had  not  yet  had,  some  crack  shooting, 

1 86 


i 


f'.i 


a 


' f •flit! i^'  • 


i 


/T 


/(^l 


Tiii.N  \vi;  sr.i  (.IF  .vr  A  !;ki^>i<.  r.u:r.. 


187 


k 


^., 


i 


(4 


)^' 


ft   ' 


\4 


iJt 


li    ! 


which  in  that  li.i;ht  ivciiiircs  youn^  oyesi<^ht,  and 
barked  the  s(|uirr<,'l  lor  hlin  four  times;  later 
still  snuffed  the  faiulle  for  him,  havinfTj  brought 
one  alon^^  for  liio  ])iii|)()se;  and  then,  with  my 
step  fresh,  led   him   suillly  home. 

He  has  the  blood  of  (ieor^dana  in  him,  and 
stood  it  liUe  a  man.  Hut  he  was  nearly  dead. 
He  has  saluted  me  siiiee  as  thouL;"h  1  were  a 
murderous  [;arrison  intienched  on  the  Ilei;;hts 
of  Abraham. 

Then  the  three  [generals  of  the  United  States 
army  descended  in  a  bo(l\' — or  in  three  bodies; 
and  the  truth  is  that  iheir  three  bodies  scarce  held 
them,  they  were  in  such  a  state  of  ilesh  when 
they  reached  Kentucky,  and  of  beiui;  perpetu- 
ally overfed  while  they  remained.  The  object 
of  their  joint  visit  under  a  recent  act  of  Con- 
fjjress  was  to  locate  a  military  asylum  for  dis- 
abled soldiers  ;  and  had  they  stayed  much  longer 
they  must  have  had  themselves  admitted  to  their 
own  institution  as  foremost  of  the  disabled. 
Having  s])ent  some  time  at  the  Lower  Blue 
Lick  Springs,  the  ]:)r()posed  site,  —  where  this 
summer  are  over  five  hundred  guests  of  our 
finest  Southern  society,  —  they  afterwards  were 
drawn  around  with  immense  solidity  towards 
Louisville,  Frankfort,  Maysville,  Paris,  and  Lex- 

188 


\    t 


ll. 


m,  .1 


J^  f<.L 


c^/^-7*' 


tsi-^ 


\ 


(( 


Till-:    IIIUKK   liLNKUALb. 


189 


wm 


§w 

M'[ 

H      -    'il  ' 

I^B     %         '1'   ' 

1  vH 

^    1 

i4 

m   ^  n  ' 

1 

) 

1 

I    t 


in^^ton,  bcinj^  everywhere  received  with  such 
honours  and  prox'isions  that  these  i^reat  [;uns 
were  in  danger  of  becoming  spiked  forever  in 
both  barrel  and  tube. 

Upon  reachinf^  this  town  one  of  theni  de- 
tached himself  from  the  heated  rolling  mass  and 
accei)ted  the  invitation  of  }()ung  Cobb — -who 
had  formed  the  accpiaintance  at  West  I'oint  — 
to  make  a  visit  in  his  home,  lie  had  not  been 
there  many  days  before  he  manoeuvred  to  estab- 
lish a  private  military  retreat  for  himself  in  the 
affections  of  Mrs.  Cobb.  So  that  his  jircsence 
became  a  profanation  to  Georgiana,  whose  rev- 
erence for  her  heroic  father  burns  like  an  altar 
of  sacred  fire,  and  whose  nature  became  rent 
in  twain  between  her  mother's  suitor  and  her 
brother's  guest. 

A  most  i:)estiferous  variety  of  cater])illar  has 
infested  the  tops  of  my  cherry-trees  this  summer, 
and  during  the  general's  encampment  near  Mrs. 
Cobb  I  hai)pened  several  times  to  be  mounted 
on  my  step-ladder,  busy  with  my  ])runing-shears, 
when  he  was  decoying  her  around  her  garden,  ■ — 
just  over  the  fence, — buckled  in  to  suffocation, 
and  with  his  long  epaulettes  golden  in  the  sun 
like  tassels  of  the  corn.  I  was  engaged  in 
exterminating  this  insect  on  the  last  dav  of  his 

190 


I   i 


/4:^^ 


f  ^  ■ 


y^^^ 

/'S,/-*.^. 


!^.•-^^g. 


4;^  •• 


C-^EiN^^Sk/  uj 


1    II.WK    KI.EN    MAKRIKI),    SIR!  " 


>     ^ 


I 


i 


1; 


iS    ! 


It.  1 


sojourn.  They  were  j^assing  almost  beneath  me 
on  the  other  side;  he  had  l)een  tiilkin^;' ;  I  heard 
her  l)rief  reply,  in  a  voice  low  and  full  of  dignity, 

"  I  have  />(•(//  married,  sir  !  " 

"  Mother  of  Georgiana  I  "  I  cried,  within  my- 
self. lUit  had  she  ever  thought  of  taking  a 
second  husband  she  must  have  seen  through 
"  Okl  Drumbeater,"  as  Sylvia  called  him.  There 
were  times  when  their  breakfast  would  be  late 
—  for  the  sake  of  letting  his  chicken  be  broiled 
in  sh)w  ])erfection  or  his  rolls  or  waffles  come  to 
a  faultless  brown  ;  and  I,  being  at  work  near  the 
garden  fence,  would  hear  him  tramping  up  and 
down  the  walk  on  the  other  side  and  swearing 
at  a  family  that  had  such  irregular  meals.  The 
camel,  a  lean  beast,  requires  an  extraordinary 
supjily  of  food,  which  it  proceeds  to  store  away 
in  its  hump  as  nourishment  to  be  drawn  upon 
while  it  is  crossing  the  desert.  There  may  be 
no  long  campaigning  before  the  general ;  but  if 
there  were  and  rations  were  short,  why  could  he 
not  live  upon  his  own  back .-'  It  is  of  a  thick- 
ness, a  roundness,  and  an  impenetrability  that 
would  have  justified  Jackson  in  using  him  as  a 
cotton-bale  at  the  battle  of  New  Orleans. 

Thus  in  my  little  corner  of  the  world  we  have 
all  been   at  the   same   business  of  love,  and  I 

192 


\ 


» f 


o 


TilK   CAKPHVIKR   AM)   TlfK   SIAVIVr;., ;,  Rr 


/r/ 


wonder  whether  the  corner  be  not  the  world 
itself:  Mrs.  Cobb  and  tlic  general,  (leorgiana 
and  I,  the  sewini;-i;irl  and  the  carjienter ;  for  I 
had  forgotten  to  note  how  (juickly  these  two 
have  found  out  that  they  want  each  other.  My 
arbour  is  at  liis  service,  if  he  wishes  it ;  and  Jack 
shall  keep  silent  about  the  mastodon. 

It  is  true  that  from  this  sentimental  enumera- 
tion I  have  omitted  the  name  of  Mrs.  Walters  ; 
but  there  is  a  secret  heie  which  not  even  Geor<;i- 
ana  herself  will  ever  _i;et  from  me.  Mrs.  Walters 
came  to  this  town  twenty  years  a_L;'o  from  the 
re,<j;ion  of  liowlini;'  (ireen.  Some  \'ears  after- 
wards I  made  a  Iri])  into  that  part  of  the  State 
to  hear  the  mocki;\<;"-bii(l  —  for  it  fills  those 
more  southern  groves,  but  never  visits  ours; 
and  while  there  I  stejiped  by  accident  on  this 
discovery:  Thcic  never  i^'as  any  Mr.  IWilhis. 
It  is  her  maiden  name.  lUit  as  I  see  the  free- 
dom of  her  life  and  reflect  upon  the  things  that 
a  widow  can  do  and  an  old  maid  cannot  —  with 
her  own  sex  and  with  mine —  I  commend  her 
wisdom  and  leave  her  at  peace.  Indeed  I  have 
gone  so  far,  when  she  has  asked  for  my  sym- 
pathy, as  to  lament  with  her  Mr.  Walters's 
death.  After  all,  what  great  difference  is  there 
between    her  weeping   for  him   because   he   is 

194 


no  more,  and  her  \vcc'i)in-  t",.r  him  because  he 
never  was?  Alter  which  she  Ireshens  herself 
up  with  anclher  handkerchiet,  a  little  Morida 
water,  and  a  pi-nient  of  May  roses  from  the 
a{)()thecar)-'s. 

And  I  have  omitted  the  name  of  Sylvia;  but 
then  Sylvia's  name,  like  that  of  [.ot's  wile,  can 
never  be  used  as  one  of  a  class,  and  she  herself 
must  always  be  spoken  of  alone.  (If  Svlvia  had 
been  Lot's  wife,  she  woidd  not  have  turned  to 
a  pillar  of  salt,  she  would  iu.)st  probably  have 
JK'come  a  ,L;c\ser. ) 

I  don't  know  why.  l)ut  she  went  on  a  visit  to 
Henderson    after    that    evein'n-    in    the   arbour. 
I   suspect  the  L;overnin.L,^  j)ower  of  (leor-iana's 
wisdom  to  have  ])een  put  forth  here,  for  within 
a  few  days  I  received  from  Sylvia  a  letter  wlu'ch 
she  asked  me  not  to  show  to  (ieor.i^n'ana,  and  in 
which   she  invited   me    to   correspond   with   her 
secretly.     The  letter  was  of  a  sin-ularly  glucose 
quality    as   to   the   emotions.      Throughout   she 
referred    to  herself  as   "the  exile,"  althou-h   it 
was  plain  that  she  wrote  in  the  hi-hest  si)irits; 
and  in  concluding-  she  openly  char-ed  (ieor-iana 
with    havin<;   rriven    her   a   black   eye-^a    most 
unspeakable   phrase,   surely   picked    up    in    the 
school-room.     As   a  return   for  the   black   eye, 

195 


Sylvia  said  that  she  had  composed  a  poem  to 
herself,  a  copy  of  which  she  enclosed. 

I  quote  Sylvia's  commemorative  verses  upon 
her  \vron[;s  and  her  banishment.  They  show 
features  of  metrical  excess,  and  can  scarcely 
claim  to  reflect  the  ])olish  of  her  calmer  art; 
but  they  are  of  value  to  me  as  jiroving  that 
whatever  the  rebuke  Georgiana  may  have  given, 
it  had  rebounded  from  that  elastic  spirit. 


r^     ( 


."  I 


LINES    TO    MYSELF 

Oil  !  slic  was  a  lovely  ,>;iil, 

So  prcUy  aiul  so  fair, 
Willi  i^eiitk',  loVL'-lit  cvi's, 

AikI  wavy,  dark  brown  hair. 

I  lovi'd  the  Identic  ,!j;irl, 

l)Ut.  oh  I   I  heaved  a  siu;h 
When  first  she  told  ine  she  could  see 

Out  of  onlv  (>//t'  eve. 


But  soon  I  thought  within  myself 
""d  better  save  my  tear  and  sigh 

To  bestinu  i/poii  an  older  person  I  know 
Who  has  more  than  one  eye. 


She  is  brave  and  intelligent 
Too.     She  is  witty  and  wise. 

She'll  accomplish  more  now  than  rt;w///t'r 
person  I  know 
Who  has  tiuo  eyes. 

196 


\ 


v[  I,  ^ 


I 


7II  ^I^'I'V 


li^' 


'^SX* 


y^w^m^ 


sine   COULD    SEE   OUT   OF   ONLY    U.NE    L\K. 


k 


I 


197 


f  I 

f 


..( 


»r^ 


/r,: 


[^    I 


)J  ? 


■».!'* 


Ah.  you  need  not  pitv  //rr ! 

S/ir  needs  not  voiir  tear  and  si;^li. 
She'll  make  ^M)od  use,  1  tell  you, 

Of  her  one  remaining  eye. 

In  the  home  wlierc  we  are  hastening, 

in  our  eternal  Home  on  High, 
.See  that  »w/  be  not  rivalled 

Hy  the  girl  with  only  one  eye.^ 

Having;  thus  dealt  a  thrust  at  Georjj^iana, 
Sylvia  .seems  to  have  turned  in  the  sjiirit  of 
reveni^e  upon  her  mother;  and  when  she  came 
home  some  days  ai^o  she  broui;ht  with  her  a 
distant  cousin  of  her  own  ai;e  —  a  boy,  enor- 
mously fat  —  whom  she  soon  be^an  to  decoy 
around  the  garden  as  her  mother  i>ad  been 
decoyed  by  the  {^^eneral.  Further  tc'  satirize 
the  similarity  of  lovers,  she  one  day  pinned 
upon  his  shoulders  rosettes  of  yellow  ribbon. 

Sylvia  has  now  j)assed  from  Scott  to  Moore; 
and  several  times  lately  she  has  made  herself 
heard  in  the  garden  with  recitations  to  the  fat 
boy  on  the  subject  of  Peris  weejMng  before  the 
gates  of  Paradise,  or  warbling  elegies  under  the 


^  Miss  .Sylvia  could  not  have  been  speaking  seriously  when 
she  wrote  that  she  had  "  composed  "  this  j)neni.  It  is  known 
t.i  be  the  work  of  another  hand,  though  Sylvia  certainly  tam- 
pered with  the  original  and  produced  a  version  of  her  own. 

J.  L.  A. 

198 


I     I 


RUSKITKS   OF   Vl.l.I.ow    KIl;|;,  ,>,, 


V 

I 


»>■ 


i 


■« 


green  sc;i  in  regard  to  Araln's  dauirhter.  There 
is  real  aptness  in  the  hitter  retercncc;  lor  this 
l)()y's  true  place  in  nature  /.s-  tlie  dec])  seas  of 
the  j)ohir  rej^ions,  where  aniniahs  are  coated 
with  thick  tissues  of  blubber.  If  Sylvia  ever 
harpoons  hini,  as  she  seems  seriously  licnt  on 
doin^;,  she  will  have  to  drive  her  weapon  in 
deep. 

Yesterday  she  si)ran,i;  across  to  me  with  her 
hair  ll^injj;  and  an  open  letter  in  her  hand. 

"Oh;  reail  it!  "  she  cried,  her  face  kindling;. 

It  tiUMicd  out  to  be  a  letter  from  the  ^i;reat 
Mr.  Prentice,  of  the  Louisvilleye/z/v^?'/,  accepting.; 
a  poem  she  had  lately  sent  him,  and  assi^qiinj;' 
her  a  hxcti  place  amont;'  his  vast  and  twinklinj:^ 
,i;alaxy  of  Kentucky  poetesses.  The  title  of 
the  poem  was,  "  My  Lover  Kneels  to  None  but 
God." 

"I  infer  from  this,"  I  said  <;ravely,  "that 
your  lover  is  a  Kentuckian." 

"He  is,"  cried  Sylvia.  "Oh,  his  peerless 
hau,i;hty  look  !  " 

"  Well,  I  congratulate  you,  Sylvia,"  I  con- 
tinued mildly,  "  upon  having  such  an  editor  and 
such  a  lover ;  but  I  really  think  that  your  lover 
ouirht  to  kneel  a  little  to  Mr.  Prentice  on  this 


one  occasion. 


200 


^'f'^U 


her 


"Xcwr!"    cried    Sylvia,      "lie    kneels   only 
lo  (ioil  and  me  !  " 


SHE    SrKA.Ni;    .\i  K(.>.',5i    To    MK. 


"Some    day  when    you    meet    Mr.    I'rentice, 
Sylvia,"    I   continiied    further,   "you  will    want 

20 1 


£ 


(( 


l\'f 


\    ' 


^' 


i;i'  k 


to  l)c  very  nirc  to  hiin,  and  you  nii.i;ht  .i^ivc  liiiii 
•sonicthiti^  new  to  j)arsc." 

Sylvia  studied  me  dubiously:  the  subject  is 
not  one  that  reassures  her. 

"  Because  the  otluT  day  I  heard  a  very  ;;reat 
friend  of  Mr.  I'renticc's  say  of  him  that  when 
he  was  fifteen  he  could  parse  every  sentence 
in  Vir^dl  and  liomer.  And  if  he  could  do  that 
then,  think  what  he  nuist  be  able  to  do  now,  and 
what  j)leasure  his  ])arsin-  passion  must  afford 
him!" 

1  would  not  iud)ittL'r  S\'l\ia's  jov  by  intimat- 
in.i;'  that  |)erhaps  Mi".  ri\-ntice's  studious  re,i;ai"d 
for  much  of  the  j.'oetry  that  he  published  was 
based  upon  the  fact  that  only  he  could  parse  it. 


There  has  been  the  most  terrible  trouble  ^ 
the  raccoon. 

This  morniuLC  the  carpenter  tied  him  in  my 
yard  as  usual;  but  some  time  dui-ini;"  the  fore- 
noon, in  a  lit  of  ra^e  at  his  confinement,  he 
pulled  the  collar  oxer  his  head  and  was  :L;'one. 
Whither  and  how  loni;'  no  one  knew;  but  it 
.seems  that  at  last,  by  dint  of  fences  and  trees, 
he  attained  to  the  unapju-oachable  distinction 
of  standing  on  the  comb  of  Mrs.  Walters's  house 
—  poor    Mrs.    Walters,    who    has   always    held 

202 


him   ill   siuh    (U\i(lly   fcail    she   would    as    soon 
have     had     him     on    the    eomh    of     her     head. 
AcKaiu'iii--    aloii--    the    ro;)t',    he    nioimled    the 
ehimnev.       (ilaneiii--     down    this,    he     perhaps 
reached    the    eonelii>ion   tiiat   it    was   moi-e    hke 
nature    and   :i  hollow  tree    than    anythin.i;"    that 
civilization    had   )rt  l)een   al)le  to   ])r()duee.   a.nd 
he   proceeded    to  descend   to  the   i;round   a-ain 
by  so  dark    and   friendly  a   passa-e.      llis  pi'o.i;"- 
ress  was  sto|)|)ed   1)\'   a  bundle   of   straw   at   the 
bottom,  which   he  i|uiclsiy   tore  away,  and   hav- 
in:^"  emei\L;ed    fioui  a  -roxe   ot    asparagus  in   tho 
firejikice,   lie   found    himself  not   on    the    earth, 
l)ut  in    Mrs.  Wallers's  bedroom.      In  what  ways 
he   now   \ented   his  ill  humoui'  is  not  cleai';   but 
at  last   he  climbed  to  i  le  bed,  white  as  no  fidler 
could  white  it,  and  he  diippini;'  with  soot.     Here 
the  -ground  beneath  him  was  of  such  a  suspicious 
and   mn-easonable    softness   that    he   a])parently 
resoUed  to    di-"  a   hole   and   see   what   was    the 
matter.      In    the    course    of    his    excavation    he 
reached  Mrs.  W'alters's  featherd)ed,  upon  wliich 
he  must  have  fallen  with   fresh   violence,  tooth 
and  nad,  in  the  idea  that  so  many  feathers  could 
not  possiblv  mean  feathers  only. 

It   was    about    this    time    that    Mrs.    Walters 
returned  from  town,   havintj;  left  every  window 

203 


( 


'  •■  //'  !■ 


T 


nUti 

I 'Si  li 


»« 

Q 


1/ 

'I 


I 


r?  I 


11 


.  if 
.r;l 


)!? 


closed  and  every  door  loeked,  as  is  her  custom. 
She    threw  open  her  door   and    started  in,  but 


Jt;/lC...- 


ruKX  in.K  i:vr.>  rAtcin  .su;hi. 

paused,  beini^  <j:reeted  1)\'  a  snow-storm  of  goose 
feathers  that  tilled  the  air  and  now  drifted  out- 
V.  .^rd. 

204 


La. 


"Why,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  she 
exclaimed,  peerin-c  in,  blank  with  bewilderment. 
Then  her  eyes  cau-ht  si-ht  of  what  had  once 
been  her  bed.  Sittini;  uj)  in  it  was  the  raccoon, 
his  long  black  jaws  bearded  with  down,  his  head 
and  ears  stuck  about  with  feathers,  and  his  e\  es 
blazin-;-  green  with  defiance. 

She  slammed  and  locked  the  door. 
"Run  for  the  sheriff!"  she  cried,  in  terror, 
to  the  boy  who  had  brought  her  market  basket  ; 
and  she  followed  him  as  he  fled. 

"What  is  It,  Mrs.  Walters  .> "  asked  the 
sheriff,  sternly,  meeting  her  and  bringing  the 
handcuffs. 

"  There's  somebody  in   my  bed  !  "  she  cried, 

wringing  her  himds.     "  I  bdieve  it's  a ." 

"It's  my  'coon,"  said  the  carpenter,  laughing; 
for  by  this  time  we  were  all  gathered  together. 
"  What  a  foolish  'coon  !  "  said  the  sewing-girl. 
"  Oh,  Mrs.  Walters  !     You  are  like  Little  Red 
Riding-hood  !  "  said  Sylvia. 

"  I  can't  arrest  a  'coon,  madam  !  "  exclaimed 
the  shcrilT,  red  in  the  nee:  at  being  made 
riciiculuus. 

"  Then  arrest  the  carpenter !  "  cried  poor,  un- 
happy, excited  Mrs.  Walters,  bursting  into  tears 
and  hiding  her  face  on  Georgiana's  shoulder. 

205 


;iV    .1 


I 
< 


]&,! 


1 

« 


f  ^ 

t3 

b  i; 

il  i' 

And  among  us  all  Georgiana  was   the   only 
comforter.     She   laid   aside   her  own  work  for 


M 


-^A  .^  ' 


'.^1 
>-.•/' 


fy|^t^ 


(«:^i'^' 


'..I"/' 


#l1      '^FAI' 


"Wll.vr    IS    ri',    MKS.   WAI.TKKS?" 

that  day,  spent  the  rest  of  it  as  Samaritan  to  her 
desperately  wounded  neighbour,  and  at  nightfall, 
over  the  bed,  now  peaceful  and  snowy  once  more, 

2o6 


she  spread  a  marvellous  j.riceless  quilt  thai  she 
had  long  been  makino-  to  exhibit  at  the  ap- 
proaching World's  l^^air  at  Xew  York. 

"Georgiana,"  I  said,  as  I  walked  home  with 
her  at  bedtime,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  things  hap- 
pen m  order  to  show  you  off." 

"  Only  think  !  "  Georgiana  replied  ;  "  she  will 
never  get  into  bed  again  without  a  shiver  and  a 
.glance  at  the  chimney.  I  bega.dge  her  the 
quilt  for  one  rea.son  ;  it  has  a  niece  of  one  oi 
your  old  satin  waistcoats  in  it." 

"Did  she  tell  you  that  she  had  had  those  bed- 
clothes ever  since  her  marriage  f  " 

"Ves;     but    I    have    alwa'^ys    felt    that    she 
couldn't  have  been  married  very  long." 
"  How  long  should  you  think  ?"        ^ 
"Oh,  well  — " 

•'And  yet  she  certainly  has  the  clearest  pos- 
sible idea  of  Mr.  Walters.  I  in.agine  that  v.mv 
tew  women  ever  come  to  know  their  husbands 
as  perfectly  as  Mrs.  Walters  knew  hers." 

"Or  perhaps  wish  to." 


207 


I 


\i 


U'il 


I ,  i} 


.   ' 


N<,.-  t'V  J-l  '{.  '1': 


rrt'^r^':;';^ 


si-lift^  ^-: . 


THE  SAGACluUS  OLD   bOUL. 


208 


*l.  .-  r,  ..s. 


"^     7 

p.- 


Cr, 


P-r\)-^ 


III 

HVERAL  earthquakes  have 

lately     been     telt     in     this 

part  of  the  -lobe.     Coming. 

events  cast  their  shocks 

before. 

The  end  of  Aii<;ust  — 
the  iii<rht  before  my 
marriage. 

The  news  of  it  certainly  came  lil<e  tlie  sliocic 
cf  an  eartliqual^e  to  many  people  of  tlie  toun 
vvho  know  perfectly  well  that   no   woman  will 
allow  the  fruit  and  flowers  t„  1>.  carried  off  a 
place  as  a  n.an  will.     The  saf;aeious  old    soul 
who  v,s,ts  me  yearly  for  younj;  pie-plant  actu- 
ally hurried  out  and  besged  for  a  basketful  of 
the  roots  at  once,  thus  taking  time -and  the 
rhubarb _  by  the  forelock.     And  the  old  epicu- 
rean  harpy  whose  passion  is  asparagus,  havincr 
accosted  me  gruflly  on  the  street  with  an  inquiry 


I 


L 


as  to  the  truth  of  my  cn<;:igement  and  been 
quietly  assured  how  true  it  was,  informed  me 
to  my  face  that  any  man  situated  as  happily  as 
I  am  was  an  infernal  fool  to  entan<;lj  himself 
with  a  wife,  and  bade  me  a  curt  and  everlasting 
j^ood-morning  on  the  spot.  Vet  every  day  the 
theme  of  this  old  troubadour's  talk  around  the 
hotels  is  female  entanglements  —  mendacious, 
unwifely,  and  for  him  unavailing. 

Through  divers  channels  some  of  mv  fellow- 
creatures —  specimens  of  the  most  dreadful  prose 
—  have  let  me  know  that  upon  marrying  I  shall 
forfeit  their  usurious  regard.  As  to  them,  I 
shall  relapse  into  the  privacy  of  an  orchard  that 
has  been  plucked  of  its  fruit.  But  my  wonder- 
ment has  grown  on  the  other  hand  at  the  num- 
ber of  those  to  whom,  as  the  significant  unit  of 
a  family  instead  of  a  bachelor  zero,  1  have  now 
acquired  a  sterling  mercantile  valuation.  Upon 
the  whole,  I  may  fairly  compute  that  my  rela- 
tion to  the  human  race  has  been  totally  changed 
by  the  little  1  may  cea.se  to  give  away  and  by 
the  less  that  I  shall  need  to  buv. 

And  Mrs.  Walters!  Although  I  prefer  to 
think  of  Mrs.  Walters  as  a  singer,  owing  to  her 
unaccountable  powers  of  reminiscential  vocali- 
zation,   1    have    upon    occasion    classifiel    her 

2IO 


lid  been 
med  me 
ippily  as 

himself 
^rlasting 

day  the 
Hind  the 
dacious, 

/  fellow- 
t'ul  prose 
?  I  shall 
them,  I 
ard  that 
wonder- 
he  num- 
t  unit  of 
ave  now 
Upon 
iiy  rela- 
:hanged 
and  by 

refer  to 
g  to  her 
I  vocali- 
ied    her 


^y^^ong  the  waders;  and  certainlv.  upon  the 
day  when  my  engagement  to  Gcorgiana  trans- 
pired, she  waded  not  only  around  the  town  hut 
^•11  over  it.  sustained  by  a  bu„yancv  of  spirit 
that  enabled  her  to  keep  her  head  above  water 
in  depths  where  her  feet  no  longer  touched  the 
bottom. 

It  was  the  crowning  trii-.ni,h  of  this  vacant 
soul's  lite  to  b(,ast  that  she  had  made  tiiis 
match;  and  for  the  sake  of  giving  her  so 
much  happiness.  I  think  f  should  have  been 
^vdhng  to  marry  Georgiana  whether  I  loved 
her  or  not. 

So  we  are  all  happx- :  Sylvia,  who  thus  enf^rs 
upon  a  tamily  right  to  my  Howers  and  to  the 
distmction  of  being  the  only  Miss  Cobb;   Dij.y 
who.  while  gathering  vegetables  about  the  gar- 
den, long  ago  began  to  receive  little  bundles  of 
quilt   pieces  thrown  down  to  her  with  a  smile 
and   the   right   word  from   the   window  above- 
and  Jack,  who  is  to  drive  us  on  our  bridal-trip 
to  the  Blue   Lick   Springs,  where   he  hopes  to 
renew  his  scientific  studies  upon  the  maxillary 
hones.     I   have    hesitated    between    Blue    Lick 
and  Mud  Lick,  though  to  a  man  in  mv  condi- 
tion there  can  be  no  great  difference  between 
blue   and    mud.     And    T    had    thought   of   the 

211 


1 1 

f 


Harrodsbur^-  Sprin<;s,  hut  the  negro  musicians 
there  were  lately  hurried  off  to  Canada  hy  the 
underground  railway,  out  of  which  fact  has 
grown  a  lawsuit  for  damages  between  the 
proprietor  and  his  abolitionist  guest. 

A  few  weeks  ago  I  entrusted  a  secret  to 
Georgiana.  I  told  her  that  before  she  conde- 
scended  to  shine  upon  this  jxirt  of  the  world  — 
now  the  heavenlier  part — 1  had  been  engaged 
upon  certain  researches  and  discoveries  relating 
to  Kentucky  birds,  especially  to  the  Kentucky 
warbler.  I  admitted  that  these  studies  had 
been  wretchedly  put  aside  under  the  more 
pressing  necessity  of  fixing  the  attention  of  all 
my  powers,  ornithological  and  other,  upon  her 
garden  window.  But  as  I  jDlaced  specimens  of 
my  notes  and  drawings  in  her  hand,  I  remarked 
gravely  that  after  our  marriage  I  should  be 
ready  to  jnish  my  work  forward  without  delay. 

All  this  was  meant  to  give  her  a  delightful 
surprise ;  and  indeed  she  examined  the  evi- 
dences of  my  undertaking  with  devouring  and 
triumphant  eagerness.  But  what  was  my  amaze- 
ment when  she  handed  them  back  in  silence, 
and  with  a  face  as  white,  though  as  fragrant, 
as  a  rose. 

212 


lUsicKins 
I  l)y  the 
"act  has 
een    the 


3crct  to 
:  conde- 
ivorld  — 
^nn^arjed 
relating 
entucky 
ies  had 
c  more 
in  of  all 
pon  her 
mens  of 
marked 
n\\d  be 
t  delay. 
jligliCiul 
he  evi- 
ing  and 
amaze- 
silence, 
•agrant, 


V 


si'EciMr.Ns  or  mv  n,,ii:s  am,  drawings. 


213 


n 


'i  I 


"  T  have  distressed  y<Mi,  (ieor^nrina  I  "  T 
cried,  "and  my  only  thou^^ht  had  been  to  ^Mve 
you  pleasure.  I  am  always  doing  something 
wrong! " 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  passed  her  fingers 
scarchingly  across  her  brow,  as  we  sometimes 
instinctively  try  to  brush  away  our  cares.  Then 
she  sat  looking  down  rather  jMtifully  at  her 
palms,  as  they  lay  in  her  laj). 

'•  Vou  have  shared  your  secret  with  me,"  she 
said  solemnly,  at  length.  "  I'll  share  mine  with 
you.  It  is  the  only  fear  that  I  have  ever  felt 
regarding  our  future.  It  has  never  left  me  ; 
and  what  you  have  just  shown  me  fills  me  with 
terror." 

I  sat  aghast. 

*'  I  am  not  deceived,"  she  continued ;  "  you 
have  not  forgotten  nature.  It  draws  you  more 
powerfully  than  anything  else  in  the  world. 
Whenever  you  speak  of  it,  you  say  the  right 
thing,  you  find  the  right  word,  you  get  the 
right  meaning.  With  nature  alone  you  are 
perfectly  natural.  Towards  society  you  show 
your  shabby,  awkward,  trivial,  uncomfortable 
side.  But  these  drawings,  these  notes  —  there 
lies  your  power,  your  gift,  your  home.  You 
trulv  belong  to  the  woodsmen." 

214 


I    listened    to   this   as   t(»    ttvsh    t.ilk    abmit   a 
siraiiijer. 

"  I)(»    you    not    foresee   what   will    happen  ?  " 
she  went  on,  with   emotioti.      "After   we   ha\i- 
been   married  a  while  you  will  be,-;in  to  wander 
off  —at  first  for  part  of  a  day.  then  for  a  day, 
then  for  a  day  and  a  ni-ht,  then   for  days  and 
nights  ton^ether.     That  was  the  wav  with  Audu- 
bon, that  was  the  way  with  Wilson,  that  is  the 
way  with  Thorean,  that  will  be  the   way    with 
all  whom  nature  draws  as  it  draws  \ou.     And 
me  -think  of  me— at  home!      A  woman   not 
able   to  go  with   you!     Not   able    to   wade  !he 
creeks  and  swim  the  rivers!     Not  able  to  sleep 
out  in  the  brown  leaves,  to  endure  the  rain,  the 
cold,  the  travel !     And  so  I  shall  never  be  able 
to  fill  your  life  with  mine  as  you  fill  mine  with 
yours.     As  time  passes.  I  shall  fill  it  less  and 
less.     livery  sprin<;  nature  will  be  just  as  youns; 
to  you ;    I    shall   be   always  older.     The   water 
you  love  ripples,  never  wrinkles.     I   shall  cease 
rippling  and  begin  wrinkling.      Xo  matter  what 
happens,  each  summer  the  birds  get  fresh  feath- 
ers;   only   think    how   my   old   ones  will   never 
drop  out.     I  shall  want  you  to  go  on  with  vour 
w^ork.     If  I  am  to  be  your  wife,  I  must  be  wings 
to  you.     But  think  of  compelling  me  to  furnish 

J15 


■  1 1 


\ii 


f 


you  the  \vin;;s  with  which  to  leave  mc  !  What 
is  a  little  book  on  Kentucky  birds  in  toniparison 
with  my  happiness  !  " 

She  was  so  deeply  moved  that  my  one  desire 
was  to  uj)rt)ot  her  tears  on  the  spot. 

"Then  there  shall  be  no  little  book  on  Ken- 
tucky birds!  "  I  cried.  "  I'll  throw  the.se  thint;s 
into  the  fire  as  soon  as  I  <;o  home.  Only  sav 
what  you  wish  me  to  be,  (ieor.L^irma,"  I  con- 
tinued, lau^hin,:;-,  "and  I'll  be  it  —  if  it's  the 
town   pump." 

"Then  if  I  could  onl\  bo  the  town  well."  she 
said,  with  a  poor  little  effort  to  make  a  heavy 
heai"t  all  at  once  f^o  merrily  aj;ain. 

Bent  on  makin<j^  it  j;o  merrily  as  lon^;  as  I 
shall  live,  the  following"  day  I  called  out  to  her 
at  the  window  : 

"  Georj;iana,  I'm  improving.  I'm  getting 
along. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  in  town  this  morning  they  chose  me 
as  one  of  the  judg^  of  vegetal/ies  at  the  fair 
next  month.  I  said,  '  Gentlemen,  I  expect  to  be 
married  before  that  time,  and  I  do  not  intend 
to  be  separated  from  my  wife.  Will  she  have 
the  privilege  of  accompanying  me  among  these 
competing  vegetables  ? '     And  last  month  they 

216 


L   ',  ) 


made  me  director  of  a  turnpike  eompany—I 
suppose  because  it  rinis  throu-h  my  tarm.  '1  o- 
day  at  a  iiieetin-- of  the  directors  I  said,  'Ceu- 
tlemen,  how  far  is  this  turnpike  to  run  ?  I  will 
direct  it  to  the  end  of  my  farm  and  not  a  step 
farther.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  separated  from  mv 
wife.'" 

Gcor<,nana  has  teased  me  a  <;ood  deal  in  my 
life.  It  is  well  to  let  a  woman  taste  of  the 
tree  of  knowledge  whose  fruit  she  is  fond  of 
disjKMising. 

"You'd  better  be  careful!"  she  .said  archly. 
"  Remember,  I  haven't  married  you  yet." 

"  I  mil  careful,"  I  replied.  "  I  haven't  married 
J'on  yet,  either!  My  idea,  Geor-iana,"  I  con- 
tinued, "is  to  plant  a  grove  and  raise  cocoons. 
That  would  gratify  my  love  of  nature  and  your 
fancy  for  silk  dresses.  I  could  have  my  silk 
woven  and  spun  in  our  manufactory  at  Newport, 
Kentucky;  and  you  know  that  we  couldn't 
possibly  lose  each  other  among  the  mulberrv- 
trees." 


D 


You'd    better   take    care!"    she    repeated, 
o  you   expect   to  talk   to   me   in    this    stvle 


after  we  are  married  } 


<t 


That  will  all  depend  upon  h 


ow  you  talk  to 


me,"  I  answered.     "  I^ut  I  have  always  und 


er- 


217 


. 


I 


*' 


li 


M 


M 


II 


t 


.' 


stood  married  life  to  be  the  season  when  the 
worm   l)ei;ins  to  turn." 

lJesi)ite  mv  levitv.  I  have  l)een  secret!  \' 
stricken  with  remorse  at  the  monstrous  seltish- 
ness  that  la\'  coiled  Hke  a  canker  in  ni\'  words. 
I  was  really  no  better  than  those  husbands  who 
\irtu  dl\'  sa\'  to  their  wi\es  : 

'■  While  1  was  trvinj;'  to  win  you,  the  work  of 
niv  life  was  secondary  —  you  were  evervthin-. 
\ow  that  I  have  won  vou,  it  will  l)e  everything, 
and  vou  must  not  stand  in  the  way." 

But  the  thought  is  insupj)ortab]c  that  (ieor- 
j^iana  should  not  be  hapjiy  with  me  at  anv  cost. 
I  divine  now  the  reason  ol  the  effort  she  ha> 
lonj^  been  makin<;'  to  win  me  from  nature;  there- 
fore of  my  own  free  will  I  have  privatelv  set 
about  chanu;ini;  the  character  of  mv  life  with 
the  idea  of  suiting  it  to  some  other  work  in 
which  she  too  may  be  content.  And  thus  it  has 
come  about  ihat  during  the  August  now  ended 
—  always  the  month  of  the  year  in  which  mv 
nature  will  go  its  .solitary  way  and  seek  itr*  wood- 
land ])eace  —  I  have  hung  about  the  t(nvn  as 
one  who  is  offered  for  hire  to  a  master  whom 
he  has  never  seen  and  for  a  work  that  he  hates 
to  do.  Many  of  th  ■  affairs  that  engage  the 
jiassions  of  my  fellow-beings  are  to  me  as  the 

218 


i 


^'1-ay  stubhio  throu-h  wliich  I  walk   in   the  Sop- 
tcnibor  ticlds  — the  n.ttin-  wastage  ol    harvests 
long  since  gathered  in.     At  other  times   I   drive 
myself  upon  their  sharp  and   pier-ing  conflicts 
as  a  bird  is  blown  uselessly  again   and  again   by 
some  too  strong  a  wind  upon  the  spikes  of  the 
thorn.      [    hear   the   angry  talk  (>f   our   farmers 
and  merchants.  I    li.sten  to  the   liery  orations  ol 
our  .statesmen  and  the  warning  sermons  of  our 
divines.     (Think   of   a    haman   creature   calling 
him.self  a  divine.)     The  troubled  ebb  and  flow 
of  events  in    Kentucky,  the  larger  movements 
of  unrest  throughout  the  great  republic  —  these 
have  replaced  for  me  the  oK,  communings  with 
nature  that  were  full  of  music  and  of  peace. 

Kvening  after  evening  now  I  turn  mv  con- 
versations with  (ieorgiana  as  gaviv  as  I  can 
upon  some  topic  of  the  time.  She  is  n,.i  always 
pleased  with  what  I  style  my  researches  into 
civili/ed  society.  One  evening  in  particular 
our  talk  was  long  and  .serious,  beginning  in  shal- 
lows and  then  steering  for  deep  waters. 

"Well.  Georgiana."  I    had   said.  "  Aliss   Delia 
Webster  has  suddenlv  returned  to  her 
Vermont  " 

"And  who  is  Miss  Ik^ia  Webster.^" 
inquired,  with  unn!i.*lakable  aciditx . 

/i9 


home   III 


slie  li.u 


1. 


f 
'i 


"  Miss  Delia  Webster  is  the  lady  who  was 
sentenced  to  the  Stale  j)ciiitentiai y  tor  abdiKt- 
ing  our  silly  old  servants  into  Ohio.  Hut  the 
jury  of  Kentucky  ni>blemen  who  returned  the 
verdict — beini;  married  iiien,  and  loui;  used  to 
for<^iving'  a  woman  ainthinj; — i)etilioned  the 
•governor  to  i)ardon  Miss  Delia  on  the  -rouiul 
that  she  belon,i;s  to  the  sex  that  can  do  no 
wrong  — and  be  i)unished  tor  it.  Whereupon 
the  governor,  seasoned  to  the  like  large  experi- 
ence, pardoned  the  ladv.  Whereupon  Miss 
Webster,  having  passed  a  tew  weeks  in  the  j/cn- 
itentiary.  left,  as  I  stateii,  lor  her  home  in  \'er- 
niont,  followed  bv  ter  father,  who  does  not,  how- 
ever, seem  to  have  been   able  to  overtake  her." 

"  If  she'd  been  a  man,  now."  sugirested 
(Jeorgiana. 

"If  she'd  been  a  .man  she  would  have  shared 
the  fortunes  of  her  -irincipal,  the  Reverend  Mr. 
h'airbanks,  who  has  mot  returned  to  his  home  in 
Ohio,  and  will  not  —  tor  lifteen  years." 

*'  Do  you  think  it  an  agreeable  subject  of  con- 
versation .-' "'  inquired  (ieorgiana. 

"  Then  I  will  change  it,"  I  said.  "  The  other 
day  the  editor  of  the  Smithland  flti-  was  walk- 
ing along  the  street  with  his  little  daughter  and 
was  shot  down  by  a  doctor." 

220 


n' 


'  i 


"Horrihlcl"  oxckiiinccl  (ie()r<^'iana.     "Why?" 

'•  Sclf-delcnco,"  I  answered.     "  And  last  week 

in  the  courl-room  in  Mount  SterJin*;  a  man  was 

sht)t  by  his  brother-in-law  during  the  sitting  of 

court." 

"And  why  did  he  kill  lii„i  .'" 

"  Self-detence  !  "    I   answered.      "  And  in  \'er- 
sailles  a  man  down  in  the  street  was  as.sassinated 
with  a  rifle  tired   from  the   -arret  of  a  tavern. 
Seii-detence.      And  in  Lexington  a  young  man 
shot  a.      Killed  another  for  drawing  his  handker- 
chief froin  his  pocket.     Self-defence!  — the  sense 
of  the  court  being  that  whatever  such  an  action 
might  mean  in  other  civilized  countries,  in  Ken- 
tucky and  under  the  circumstances  —  the  young 
fellows  were  qi.arrelling  — it  naturally  betokened 
the  reaching  for  a  revoK  er.     Thus  in  Kentucky, 
Georgiana,  and   during   a   heated   discussion,  a 
man  cannot  blow  his  nose  but  at  the  risk  of  his 
life." 

"  ril  see  that  you  never  carry  a  handkerchief," 
said  (kwgiana.  "So  remember —  don't  you 
ever  reach   for  one !  " 

"And  the  oti,  day  in  Kddysville,"  I  went 
on,  "two  men  fought  a  duel  by  going  to  a  doc- 
tor's shop  and  having  hin)  open  a  vein  in  the 
arm  of    each.     Just    before    they   tainted    from 

3'*  f 


/ 


f 


I' 


(I 


[I- 


t 


exhaustion  they  made  signs  that  their  honour 
was  satisfied,  so  the  doctor  tied  up  the  veins. 
I  see  that  you  don't  beh'eve  it,  hut  it's  true." 
"  And  why  did  they  tight  a  duel  in  that  way.'*" 
"I  give  it  up,"  I  said,  "unless  it  was  in  self- 
defence.  We  are  a  most  remarkable  society  of 
self-defenders.  Hut  if  every  man  who  fights  in 
Kentucky  is  merely  engaged  in  warding  off  a 
murderous  attack  upon  his  life,  who  does  all  the 
murderous  attacking  ?  Vou  know  the  seal  of 
our  commonwealth  :  two  gentlemen  in  evening 
dress  shaking  hands  and  with  one  voice  declar- 
ing, '  United  we  stand,  divided  we  fall.'  So  far 
as  the  temper  of  our  time  goes,  these  two  gen- 
tlemen might  well  be  rei)resented  as  twenty 
paces  ajxirt,  and  as  calling  out,  '  I'nited,  we 
sl')()(i;  divideti.  jw/  fall!'  Killings  and  iluels ! 
Killings  ami  duels!  Do  you  think  we  need 
these  as  j)ri»itfs  of  courage  .■*  Do  you  suppose 
that  the  Kentuckians  o\  our  day  are  braver  than 
the  pioneers  '  Do  ytui  suppose  that  any  jieople 
ever  elevated  .is  ideal  of  courage  in  the  eyes  of 
the  W(»rld  bv  all  the  homicides  and  all  the  duels 
that  it  could  count  '  'llu-n.  is  unl)'  one  way  in 
whiih  anv  civili/L-d  ,.cople  has  ever  done  that, 
<»n1\  one  was  in  whicii  an\  ci\'ili/ed  j^eople 
has  ever  been   able   lo   impress  the  woild  very 


<J 


deeply  with  a  hrlief  in  the  reah'ty  and  the  nohil- 
ity  of  its  ideal  ot   ecura-c  :   it  is  by  the  warhke 
spirit  of    its  men  in   times  of  war,  and  by  the 
peaceful   spirit   of   its   men    in   times  of   peace. 
Only,  you  must  add  this  :  that  when  these  times 
ot  peace  have  come  on,  and  it  is  no  lon.irer  pos- 
sible for  such  a  people   to   realize   its   ideal   oi 
c()urai,re   in   arms,  it    is    nevertheless   driven    to 
express    the    ideal    in    other    ways  — by    monu- 
ments,  arches,    inscriptions,    statues,    literature, 
pictures,  all  in  honour  of  those  of  their  co;;utry- 
nien  who  lived  the  ideal  before  the  world  and 
left  it  more  lustrous  in  their  dyin^c-     That  is  the 
full  reason  why  we  know  how  brave  a  people 
the   Greeks  were  —  by  their   peaceful  ways  of 
honouring  valour  in  times  of  peace.     And  that 
in  part  is  why  no  nation  in  the  world  doubts  the 
courage  of  the  English,  because  when  the  Eng- 
lish are  not  fighting  they  are  forever  doing  some- 
thing  to  honour  tho.se  who  have  fought  well.     So 
that  they  never  have  a  peace  but  they  turn   it 
into  preparation  for  the  ne.xt  war. 

"  And  that  is  why,  as  the  outside  world  looks 
in  upon  us  to-day  and  sifts  the  evidence  of 
whether  or  not  we  .-^re  a  brave  people,  it  does 
not  find  proof  of  this  in  our  homicides  and 
duels,  but  in  the  spirit  of  our  forefathers  of  the 

^23 


e 


V?!^ 


^- 


li  "  '■] 
I 

I     'I 


r 
'I 


*     ,   i! 


,r 


l-icvolutioii,  in  tlu"  soMicrs  <.t  i!ic  w  i!'KTtuss  and 
Mt  Indian  uarlaix'.  ol  tiio  war  ul  iSij,  di  iho 
war  with  Mcxiid,  at  (erfo  (lordo,  at  j^uena 
X'ista,  at  I'ain  .Alto,  at  Kcsaca  dc  la  I'alma. 
WlicrcN'cr  the  Kcntuckians  ha\o  loiii^ht  as 
soldiers,  nian\'  oi"  lew.  on  wliale\i'r  battle-lield, 
in  w  hatsoe\er  eanse,  theie  \ou  Mia\'  see  whether 
tiie\'  know  what  it  is  to  I)e  men.  and  wliether 
they  ha\'e  an  ideal  of  eoin'a,L,e  that  is  worth  the 
name. 

"I'hen  ;i  few  years  a,i;'o  in  I'"rankfort  twenty 
thousand  people  lollowed  to  the  -I'axe  the 
l:)()dies  ot  the  men  who  had  fallen  in  Mexieo. 
'Idle  .State  has  raised  a  monument  to  them,  to 
tlie  soldieis  of  iSij,  ti>  those  who  fou,:^ht  at  the 
ri\ei"  Raisin.  Tlu-  I A\i;"isiatuie  has  ordereit  a. 
medal  to  be  .sti'uek  in  honoui"  of  a  ho\'  who 
had  defended  his  ensii;ii.  \o  man  ean  mai;e  a 
])uhlie  speeeh  in  Kentuekx'  without  mention  of 
I'!neaneion  and  Montere\',  of  ol  the  Ioul;'  line  ol 
battles  in  which  ewiv  -enei'aLion  of  oiu"  peo])le 
has  fou<;"lit.  Tiiis  is  the  other  i)roof  that  in 
times  of  ]ieaee  we  i\{>  not  for:j,et.  It  is  not 
mueh,  but  it  is  of  the  ri^ht  kind  —  it  is  the 
soklier's  monument,  it  is  the  s(ddier's  medal,  it 
is  tiie  soldier's  funeral  oiation.  it  is  the  reeojj;ni- 
tion  by  the  ptfople  of    its    ideal    of  courage  in 

224 


>s  linn 

i*cilnKi. 
;ht  lis 
c-!!cl<l. 
licthcr 
he t her 
nil  the 

twenty 
ve  tlie 
klexit'o. 

K'lll.  to 
.  at  the 
lereil  a. 
tv  who 
make  a 
ilion  ol 
;  line  ot 

■   In'Ople 

that  in 
is  not 
is    the 

nedal,  it 


reeoL^ni- 
irage  in 


^'"'^'^  -i   l.eaee.      And   with    everv  other  bravo 
people  this  prooi  passes  as  the  si:;-n   iniiversal 
Jiut  our  homicides  and  our  duels,  nearly  all  ol 
them  brought  about  in  the  name -even  under 
the  fear  — of  courage,  what    effect    have    thev 
had  in  giving    us    abroad    our    reputation   as  a 
community?     I  ask  myself  the  question,   what 
If  all  the  men  who  have   killed  their  personal 
enemies  or  been    killed  by  them  in   Kentuckv 
and  If  all  the  men  who  have  killed  their  per- 
sonal   friends  or  been   killed  bv  them  in   Ken- 
tucky, had  spent  their  love  of  fighting  and  their 
love  of  courage  upon  a  monument  to  the   Pio- 
neers-such a  monument    as    stands   nowhere 
else  m  the  world,  and  might  fitlv  stand  in  this 
State  to  commemorate  the  winning  of  the  W  est ' 
U  ould  the  world  think  the  better  or  the  worse 
of  the  Kentucky  ideal  of  bravery  ? 

"  1  had  not  meant  to  talk  to  you  so  Ion-  on 
this  subject,-  I  added,  in  apology,  -but  I  have 
been  thinking  of  these  things  latelv  since  1 
have  been  so  much  in  town." 

"I  am  interested,"  said  Georgiana  ;  "and  as 
I  agree  with  you,  we  need  not  both  speak." 
But  she  looked  pained,  and  I  sought  to  give  a 
happier  turn  to  the  conversation. 

"There  is  only  one  duel  I  ever  heard  of  that 


I 

1  ; 


( 


III,' 


-,    4 

..J     ii 


225 


\n 


-•s* 


* , 


;,'nvL'  mc  :inv  pleasure,  and  that  one  never  came 
(iff.  .\  few  \ears  a^n  a  Kentiickian  wrote  a 
political  satire  (»n  an  Irishman  in  Illinois  — 
wrote  it  as  a  widow.  The  Irishman  wished  to 
fi;;ht.  The  widow  offered  to  marry  the  Irish- 
man, if  such  a  ;  acrifice  would  be  accepted  as 
satisfactory  damaj^es.  Tlie  Irishman  sent  a 
challenge,  and  the  Kentuckian  chose  cavalrv 
broadswords  of  the  lar.i^est  size.  He  was  a 
^iant ;  he  had  the  lon<;est  arms  of  any  man 
in  Illinois:  he  could  have  mowed  I'>in  down 
at  a  stroke  like  a  tureen  milk-weed ;  he  had 
been  traine'a  in  diiellin<(  with  oak-trees.  Vou 
never  heard  of  him :  his  name  is  Abraham 
Lincoln." 

**  I  have  heard  of  him,  and  I  have  seen  him 
—  in  Union  County  before  I  came  here,"  said 
Georgjiana,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  He  came  here  once  to  hear  Mr.  Clay  speak," 
I  resumed  ;  *'  and  I  saw  them  walking  together 
one  day  under  the  trees  at  Ashland  —  the  two 
most  remarkable-looking  men  that  I  ever  beheld 
together." 

My  few  acres  touch  the  manv  of  the  great 
statesman.  Georgiana  and  I  often  hear  of  the 
movements  of  his  life,  as  two  little  boats  in  a 


quiet  bay  are  tosjsed  by  the  storms  of  the  ocea 

226 


n. 


ote  a 
lois  — 
hcd  to 

Irish- 
ted  as 
^cnt  a 
•avalry 
was  a 
y  man 

down 

le    bad 

Vou 

-)raliaui 

en  him 
2,    said 

speak," 
ogether 
the  twt) 
r  beheld 

le  r^reat 
r  of  the 
ats  in  a 
c  ocean. 


o 


Any  rotcrence  to  him  ;il\vavs  makes  ns  thou-ht- 
tnl.  and  \vc  tell  silcnl  now. 

"(ieorj^iana,-    I    said    at    (en-th.    softly,  "it's 
all  in  selt-detenro.      I   believe  you   promised  to 
marry  mc  in  scU-dctenee." 
"  I  did."  she  said  promj)tly. 
"U'ell,  I  eertaiidy  asked    iv/i  in   self  detence, 
Miss  Cobb."    I    replied.       '•  .\nd    now   in   a   tew 
days,  accordin-  to  the  iisa-e  of    my  time.  I  am 
^^oing  to  take  your  lite     -even   at  the   peril  of 
my  own.     If  y„u  desire,  it  is  your  privile<(e  to 
e.xamine  the  deadly  weapons  before  the  hour  ot 
actual  combat,"  and  I  held  out  my  arms  to  lier 
appealiiii^lv. 

She  bent  her  body  delicately  aside,  as  alwavs. 
"  I     am     upset."     she      said     discoura.L;in-ly. 
"Vou   have  been  abusin-    Kentuckv." 

"Ah,  that  is  the  trouble!'  I  answered. 
"  ^'ou  wish  me  to  become  more  interested 
in  my  fellow-creatures.  And  then  vou  will 
not  let  me  speak  of  what  they  do.  And  the 
other  day  you  told  me  that  I  am  not  per- 
fectly natural  with  anythin--  but  nature.  Xature 
is  the  only  thin--  that  is  perfectiv  natural  with 
me.  When  I  study  nature  there  are  no  delicate 
or  dangerous  or  forbidden  subjects.  The  tree< 
have  no  evasions.    The  weeds  are  honest.    Kun- 

--V 


I" 


I>f 


1 


i    '. 


/ 


.  >  i 


!' 


.1, 


f 


k^ 


i  i 


ning  water  is  not  tryin.i;  tn  escape.  The  sun- 
sets are  not  coloured  with  hypocrisy.  The 
lijjjhtnin^  is  not  revenue.  ICverythin.Lj  stands 
forth  in  the  sincerity  of  its  l)ein;^^  and  nature 
invites  nie  to  exercise  the  absolute  libertv  of  mv 
mind  upon  all  life.  I  am  hidden  to  niastiT  and 
jiroclaim  whatsoever  truth  slie  has  fitted  me  to 
f:jrasi).  If  I  am  worthy  to  investi^^ate,  none  is 
offended:  it  I  should  bcwi.se  enou_i;h  to  discover 
any  law  of  nature,  the  entire  world  would  ex- 
press its  thanks.  Imaj^ine  my  beini;  assassi- 
nated l)ecause  I  had  jjublished  a  complete  report 
upon  the  life  and  habits  of  the  tield-niousc  !  " 

'*  If  one  mouse  published  a  n-port  on  the  life 
and  habits  of  another,  tb' le'd  be  a  iij;ht  all  over 
the  field,"  said  (leor^iah... 

"  A  ridiculous  extreme,"  I  rei>lied.  "  Hut 
after  vou  have  ^aown  used  to  study  nature  with 
absolute  freedom  ;'!ul  absolute  peace,  think  how 
human  life  repels  you.  Vou  may  not  investi- 
fj^ate,  you  may  not  speak  out,  you  may  not  even 
think,  you  mav  not  even  feel.  You  are  not 
allowed  to  reveal  what  is  concealed,  and  you 
are  required  to  conceal  what  is  revealed.  Nat- 
ural I  Have  you  ever  known  any  two  men  to 
be  perfectl)'  natural  with  each  other  except  when 
the\  were  tii;"htin^i;  .■*     .As   foi-  the   men  thai  I  as- 

22H 


1 


sou.!to  with  i-wry  day.  Ihf-  \wi.i;h  f'l  \v  unrds 
'•lit  to  oiif  aiidtlKM  a>  lii;-  .i|)  )ihccai  .  \wi,:;hs 
his  poixins,  m  the  -loccr  hi>  -uiipox'.dcr." 

"Noil  lor-rt."  said  (  Icmi- iana,  "  that  uc  arc 
lixiii,:;  in  a  \cr\  f\tra<)r(h"nai-\  liiiir.  whrn  cwia'- 
hndy  is  sonsiti-  >•  and  rvtit'd."' 

"It  i>  so  alw  i\  >  and  f\  iT\  w  h'  iv.'  I  ri-plird. 
"  Vnw  may  n,\rr  siMd\-  \\\r  a^  \oi;  ^iialv  natnic. 
With  men  y<iu  nm^l  take  \om-  i  hoicr  :  h"hr,t\- 
lo|-  \()iir  iiiiiul  an<l  a  |irison  |,m-  \  i.iir  l...(l\-  ; 
hbrrty  lor  \(.iir  jxxlv  ai;d  a  prison  tor  \oiir 
mind.  \carl\  all  pc('|)K'  ih<io  -  •  tl)r  latlcr  ;  \\c 
know  uiiat  hcconk's  ol  thr  tew  who  do  not."' 

Hut  this  rcti-i\'n^i-  to  the  times  led  us  to  >pcak 
slowly  and  >oJcmid\-  ol  what  all  men  now  arr 
speakin-- :  war  that  nm.st  ronu'  hctwcrn  the 
North  and  the  South.  Wo  a-rccd  that  it  w<ai!d 
(  onu'  troin  caidi  side  as  a  hla/in--  toi'  h  to  Krn- 
tiiid<y,  which  lies  hrtwccii  the  two.  and  i>  (li\i<lc(l 
between  the  two  in  lo\  e  and  hate  to  Kent:irk\ . 
where  a  soldier's  lile  is  alwa\s  llie  id.  d  o|  a 
man's  dut\'   and   ;_;'lor\ . 

A\  las*   I   leit  that  in\-  time  had  come. 

''     ■■  ;iana,"    I   said,   "tiiere  is  one  sccrrt    I 

ha\-e  never  shared  with  \ou.      It  is  the  onK-  tear 

I    ha\-e  e\-er   felt    re-ai-dini;   (uir   liitnre.      r.nt,  if 

liiere   should    he   ,i    u.ir       you'd    better   know    it 


I"  .' 


I.' 


iU'' 


if  I 


<^ 


\ 


,1 


now — leave  vou  nr  not  lc;ivc  voti.  T  ;im  ;;'>in;; 
Id  jftin  the  arniv," 

She  ;;rc\v  white  and  I'aint  with  the  thuu,:;ht  ^^\ 
a  (l.t\'  ti»  ionic.      hut  at  la>t  siie  said  : 

"  N'cs  ;   \  (HI  niu>t  '^w." 

"  I  know  oni.'  thini;,"  I  added,  alter  a  Ion;; 
silenee  ;  "  it  I  eoidd  do  \^^\  whole  (hit\  as  a  Ken- 
tuekian  —  as  an  Anieriean  citi/en  as  a  hnnian 
heinj; —  I  should  have  to  ti_i;ht  on  both  sides." 

1  ha\e  thus  set  down  in  a  poor  wa\  a  pait  ol 
the  onlv  talk  1  ever  had  with  (ieorgiana  on  these 
sul)jeets  durin«;  the  year  1.S51. 


i 


;  t 


\'esteiday,  about  siniset,  the  earth  and  sk\ 
were  beautiful  with  that  tuhiess  ot  peace  which 
thinj;s  otten  attain  at  the  moment  before  thev 
alter  and  end.  The  hour  seemed  to  me  the  last 
serene  loveliness  of  summer,  soon  to  be  ruflleil 
bv  ^ales  and  blackened  by  frosts. 

(ieor^iana  stood  at  her  window  looking"  into 
the  west.  The  shadows  of  the  trees  in  my  yard 
fell  longer  and  longer  acro.ss  the  garden  towards 
her.  Darkest  among  these  lay  the  shapes  of 
the  cedars  and  the  pines  in  which  the  red-bird 
had  lived.  Her  whole  attitude  bes|X)ke  a  mood 
surrendered  to  memory  ;  and  I  felt  sure  that  we 
two  were  thinking  of  the  same  thing. 


I', 


'•t    Ilk-    whirh    imi.t    rnnio    uuh    ,,i,,     m.,ni.,,:;c. 
<;o.i-iaiKt's   -aycty  has  .;;n,\\n    mi1,(In    ,,vcrcM"lt. 
It  is  as  it    tin-  wild  strain  in  Ikt  uc-iva  liiflo  sad 
at    havin,-  t..  bo  capt.iivd  at   last;   and    I    tun  c.\- 
I'crionro  an   indrtinahk-  pain  that  it  has  hcvumc 
niy  lot  t..  subdue  her  in  this  way.     The  thou-ht 
I).)ssesscs  mc  that  she  subniits't,,  niama,-e  b. - 
rausc   she  cannot    hve   intimately  with   me  an. I 
lavish   her  love   up..n  me  in  any  ,.ther  telatic.n  ; 
and  therefore    I   draw  hack  with  awe   In.m   the 
itlea  of  takin-  such   possession  ot    her  as  I  uill 
and  must. 

As  she  sto.Hl  at  her  window  yesterday  evenin- 
she  eau-ht  si.^ht  ot  me  across  the  vard  and 
silently  beckoned.  I  went  over  and  looked  np 
at  her,  waitinj;  and  smiliu" 

"Well,  what  is  it.^-  I  asked  at  len^;ih.  as 
her  eyes  rested  on  me  with  the  lulness  ol 
affection. 

"N'othin-  T  wanted  to  .see  y„u  .standin- 
down  there  once  more.  Haven't  you  thou-h" 
of  it.^  This  is  the  last  time  —  the  la.st  ot  "he 
window,  the  last  of  the  -arden.  the  end  of  the 
past.  Kverythin-  after  this  will  be  so  different. 
Aren't  you  a  little  sorry  that  you  are  -oin-  to 
marry  mc  ? " 


'I 


ijl 


\\ 


•     I 


•H 


"  Will  you  allmv  mc  to  fcti  h  iho  iiiiiiistv  r  tliis 
instant  ?  " 

In  the  cvcniiiL;  they  put  on  her  hrid  il  dress 
and  sent  ox'er  lOi"  me,  and,  drawin;;  the  jiailour 
doors  aside,  Idinded  me  with  the  si.t;ht  ot  hei' 
standin'^  m  there,  as  it"  waitin-"  in  dulx  tor  lov.- 
to  claim  its  own.  As  I  saw  her  tlu'ii  i  have  but 
to  elose  m\'  e\'es  to  see  her  now.  I  scare*.-  know 
\vh\',  init  that  \  isioii  ot  her  haunts  my  mind 
mysteriously. 

I  see  a  fresh  snow-diatt  in  a  secret  j,reen  valle\' 
between  dark  mountains.  Tlie  sun  must  trawl 
far  and  hi-h  to  reach  it;  but  when  il  does,  its 
r.iys  pour  d(»wn  Irom  neai'  the  zenith  and  are 
most  power'ul  and  warm;  then  in  a  liltK;  while 
the  whole  \alle\  is  ;;reen  a,L;ain  and  a  w  hite  nn'sl, 
risiiii;-  fi-om  it.  nuit'lles  the  lace  of  the  sun. 

'  )h,  ( ieor,L;iana  !  ( "n'orL;]ana  I  Do  not  iade 
awa\"  fiom  me  as  I  draw  \du  to  me. 

Mv  last  soiitai  \'  candle  tlickers  in  tlie  soeket  : 
it  is  in  truth  the  end  ol  the  past. 


n  ¥ 


Sl 


IV 


~x\ 


J^l'.^J    ''    AST    siiinnicr    I    Irllrd    ,i 
W"W   "^b--         '^'^''    'i'"l    t'l^'    iH'iiil    Mt 


■>,.-^i. 


llini     storrd     ;i\\;iv      fol 


/'"XX^^^     V      niy      winUr      hirl:      ;i 
l;V^^   ^C^'^-'^-       scries    ol     l)iinu  -  olTci - 

in-s  to  tlic  \v(>?-sliij)tul 
^^I'i'il  "•!'  iii\-  li.Miih- 
sloiK-.      There     sh.uiM 


'^ 


f  / 


mmm 


I 


f 


1 


i 


)  I 


\ 


i\ 


ii' 


li,i\c  been  se\or;il  ol  thest*  nt'fei  iii,i;s  .ilrc;'.(l\', 
lor  (  )rt<»l)or  i>  .ilniost  i-iulcd  now.  tiiul  it  is 
ihc  month  (Inline;  which  the  tirst  cool  ni<;hts 
tonic  on  in  Kcntnikx  .intl  tlic  tirsl  tires  are 
h;;hle(l. 

A  lew  twili<;hts  iv^o  I  stood  at  niv  yard  gate 
watchinL;'  the  fed  domes  ot  the  forest  fade  itito 
shadow  and  Hstenin.i;  to  the  cawing  ot"  crows 
nnder  the  low  gra\'  ol  the  sky  as  they  hurried 
home.  A  chill  crept  over  the  earth.  It  was  a 
titting  hour;  1  turned  in-doors  and  summoned 
( ieorgiana. 

"  We  will  light  our  first  tire  together,"'  I  said, 
straining  her  to  m\'  heart. 

Kneeling  gavh'  down,  we  piled  the  wood  in 
the  deep,  wide  chimney.  luich  of  us  then 
brought  a  li\e  coal,  and  together  we  started  the 
l)la/.e.  I  had  drawn  (ieorgiana's  chair  to  one 
side  ot  the  fireplace,  mine  opposite  ;  and  with 
the  t\uulle  still  unlit  we  now  sat  silently  watch- 
ing the  flame  s|)read.  What  need  was  there  ot 
speech  ?     We  understood. 

Hv-and-bv  some  broken  wreaths  of  smoke 
floated  outward  into  the  room.  My  sense 
caught  the  fragrance.  I  sniffed  it  with  a  rush 
of  memories.  /Vlwavs  that  smell  of  smoke,  with 
other  wild,  clean,  j)ungent  odours  of  the  woods, 

-'34 


-f 


iV, 


had  been  strangely  |)loa^anl  to  inc.  1  rcmciii- 
bcr  thinkinj;  ot  them  when  a  hov  as  incense 
perpetually  and  reverently  set  tree  hv  nature 
towards  the  temple  ot  the  ski.'s.  Thev  aroused 
in  mc  even  then  the  spirit  ot  meditation  on  the 
mystery  ot  the  world;  and  later  thev  became 
inwrou^dit  with  the  j)ursuit  and  enjovment  («t 
thini;s  that  had  been  the  deli.:;ht  ot  niv  lite  tor 
many  years.  So  that  comini;  now.  at  the  ver\' 
moment  when  I  was  dedicatinj;  mvself  to  m\- 
hearth-stone  and  to  domestic  life,  this  smell  ol 
wood  smoke  reached  me  like  a  messaj;e  from  m\ 
l)ast.  For  an  instant  un<;overnable  lon<;inL; 
sur<;ed  over  me  to  return  to  it.  l^'or  an  instant 
1  did  return;  and  once  more  I  lav  drowsiu"- 
before  my  old  camj)-fires  in  the  autumn  woods. 
with  the  frosted  trees  draping  their  crimson  cui- 
tains  around  me  on  the  walls  of  space  and  the 
stars  flashing;-  thick  in  the  ceilin<;  of  mv  bed- 
chamber. 

My  do<;,  who  had  stretched  himself  at  my  feet 
before  the  youn<;-  blaze,  inhaled  the  smoke  also 
with  a  full  breath  of  reminiscence,  and  lay 
watchinj;  me  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye-  I 
fancied  with  reproachful  constancv.  I  cau^dit 
his  look  with  a  sense  of  i;uilt.  and  glanced  across 


at  Georgiana. 


235 


1     / 


^^ 


} 


••? 


1  , 


ll'T  L'.a/r  uu'.  1)111  icil  (Ui'|i  iti  thr  tlaini's. 
And  hiiu  suni  In  r  Lur  \\a>.  Imw  iiK-\|)rc^>il)l\ 
lit  pL-arc.  SliL-  had  toldcd  the  \\iii->  (tt  her 
whole  lilc,  aiul  sal  hv  tin-  luMith  as  slill  as  a 
broodiiii;  d(i\c.  No  past  laid  its  disturbing;' 
tnikh  ii|>i)n  lu'i'  sh()ul(U'i\  lii^lcad.  1  lould  scr 
that  it  thrrc  were  an\  lli-ht  ot  lu-r  mind  a\\a\' 
troni  the  prrscnl  it  was  into  the  tului'e  —  a  slow, 
trancpiil  tli.i;ht  aiToss  the  vears.  with  all  the  haj)- 
piness  that  the\'  must  hiini;.  As  1  set  ii!\  own 
thoughts  to  journe\-  after  hers.  snddenK  the 
seene  in  the  room  cdianL;ed,  and  I  beheld  (ieor- 
^iana  as  an  old,  old  ladw  with  loi.ks  of  siKer 
on  her  temples,  speetaeles.  a  tin\'  socl<  stne'k 
tiiron-h  with  needles  on  her  knee,  and  her  faee 
lineh'  wiinkled.  hnt  still  bloonnnL;  with  unt'on- 
(pK'iable  i;a\  et  \  and  \duth. 

"Now  sweet  that  smid<e  is.  (leor^iana."  T 
said,  rousini;'  us  both,  and  ieeliui;'  sure  that  she 
will  understand  me  in  whatsoever  liLiure  I  mav 
speak.  "  And  how  nuieh  •  are  waslin,:;  wl'ien 
we  ehan,i;e  this  old  oak  bark  into  his  elements 
—  smoke  and  li,u,ht.  heat  and  ashes.  What  a 
nKiiinilKent  work  he  was  on  natural  histoi'w  re- 
(|uii"in.L;  hundreds  of  vears  for  his  piepai'ation 
and  eompletion,  written  in  a  lanL;uai;e  so  learned 
that   not   the   wisest    ean    lead    him   wisely,  and 

2  SO 


I 


\ 


Sil- 


^Rte. 


T 

she 
nay 

K'll 

lUs 
1  a 
ic- 
ion 
iiccl 
and 


,.<'!' 


i;;;/ 


W^nk^I::--*^"^-'/*^ 


^  -^  r.--r.,.^. 


IlllHMi    1,1  '  iKi.lA.N  A     \-     AN    '''I',    nil)    l.AliV. 


^17 


'!' 


1      \' 


R 


r    I,' 


,1 


cnduiitiL^K'  Ixiiind  in  ihi,-  tlncsl  of  [vcc  en  I  It 
is  ;i  {lislmiKiur  to  spc;ik  ol  him  ;is  a  uoik.  lie 
was  a  (Imior  ot  |)hil()S()|ih\' !  lie  should  ha\L' 
hrcu  a  collcL^o  i)r()tess()r!  Think  how  he  could 
ha\c  used  his  own  foot  l(»r  a  scries  of  lecluics 
on  the  laws  ot  ec|uilibriuiii,  ca|)illarv  altractiou, 
or  soils  and  moisture  !  Was  there  evei'  a  head 
that  knew  as  nuuh  as  his  about  the  action  <»t 
lii;lu.'  Did  any  human  beiuL;  ever  more  ^randlv 
l)cai'  the  burdi-ns  ot"  lile  or  l)etter  taci'  the  tem- 
pests ot  the  world?  What  did  he  not  know 
about  birds?  lie  had  carried  them  in  his  arms 
and  nuitured  them  in  his  bosom  tor  a  thousand 
years.  Mven  his  old  coat,  with  all  its  rents  and 
|)atches  —  what  roll  of  pa])yrus  was  ever  so 
crowdeil  with  the  secrets  of  knowled,L;"e  ?  The 
august  anti(|uarian  !  The  old  kin,u,!  Can  vou 
imaifine  a  funeral  urn  too  noble  for  his  ashes? 
Hut  to  what  base  uses,  (ieors^^iana  !  Me  will  not 
keep  the  wind  away  any  lon^^cr;  we  shall  chan,i;e 
him  into  a  kettle  of  Ive  with  which  to  whiten  our 
floors." 

What  (ieor<;iana's  reply  could  have  been  I  do 
not  know,  for  at  that  moment  Mrs.  W^alters 
Hitted  in. 

"  I  saw  through  the  windows  that  you  had  a 
tire."  she    said  vulubl) ,  '"  and    ran    o\er  to  ^et 

238 


i 


) 


^^'"'"-       -^'"1.     <'li  •'     ycN     ]      warned     to     I,  !1 
yoii  —  " 

'•  Stop.  /./.V/.SV,  Mrs.  Walters!-  I  nicil.  start- 
in-  towards  her  with  an  outstretched  hand  and 
a  warnin-  lau-h.  -\ou  have  not  Net  heen 
tormally  introduced  to  this  room,  and  a  formal 
introduction  is  necessary.  \'ou  must  he  made 
ac(|uainted  with  a  primary  law  ot  its  hein- ;  •' 
and  as  Mrs.  Walters  paused,  droppin-  "lier 
hands  into  her  lap  and  re-ardin-  me  wiih  an 
air  of  mystification.  I  went  on  : 

"When  I  had  repairs  made  in  mv  hou.se  last 
summer,  I  had  this  hreplace  rehuilt,  and  I 
ordered  an  in.^cri|)tion  t<>  he  burnt  into  the 
bricks.  We  e.xpect  to  ask  that  all  our  -ucsts 
will  kindly  notice  this  inscription  in  order  to 
avoid  accidents  or  misunderstandings.  .So  I 
bci,^  of  you  not  to  speak  until  you  have  read  the 
words  (,ver  the  fireplace."' 

Mrs.  Walters  wonderin-ly  read  the  tollow- 
ino;  le.-:end,  runnin^i,^  in  an  arch  across  the 
chimnev  : 

aooti  frirnli.  niounH  these  Ijrnitli^stonfs  spcnh  no  ruil 
UJorli  of  anu  rifatuvr. 

She  wheeled  towards  me  with  instantaneous 
triumph. 

239 


il 


•ii 


'\ 


f  '1  # 


'     y. 


"  I'm  j^hul  \(iii  ])iil  it  there!  "  slic  (.rird.  "  I'lii 
^^hid  yoii  pill  il  ihciv  !  It  will  tr:n  h  tlinn  a  Ks- 
son  about  their  talkiiii;'.  Il  tluic  is  one  thiiiL;  I 
catniot  stand  it  is  a  gossip." 

I  ha\e  obsciAcd  that  a  luwl  helOie  a  lnokin^- 
L;lass  will  ti_L;ht  its  own  iinaL;e. 

"Take  eaie.  Mis.  \\'altei>'"  I  said  <;entl_\. 
"  \'()ii  came  vei"\'  neai'  to  \i(»laliii_;  the  law  just 
then." 

"He  meant  il  tor  me,  Mis.  Wallers."  said 
(ieor^iana.  londliuL;  our  nei^hhuiii's  hand,  and 
looking;'  at  me  with  an  aulul  rebuke. 

"  I  meant  it  lor  nnsell,"  I  said.  "  .Xnd  no 
it  is  doini;"  its  best  to  make  me  leel  like  a  I'haii- 
sec.  So  I  hasten  to  add  that  llure  are  oIIkt 
rooms  in  the  house  in  which  il  will  be  allowed 
human  nature  to  assert  ilsell  in  this  loni;"eslal)- 
lished,  hereililarv,  and  ineradicable  ri-ht.  ( )ur 
<;uests  have  oiiK'  to  intimate  thai  the\'  can  no 
lon-^er  restrain  their  propensities  and  we  will 
conduct  them  to  another  (diamber.  .Mrs.  Moss 
and  I  will  occasionalh'  make  use  ol  these  cham- 
bers oursehes,  to  reli(.'\e  the  tension  ol  too 
miuh  virtue.  Hut  il  is  seriouslv  our  idea  to 
ha\'e  one  room  in  the  house  where  we  shall  leel 
sale,  both  as  respects  oursehes  and  as  respects 
others,    lidin    tlu-   discoiulort    ol    e\il    sj)eakinj;'. 

^40 


w 
iri- 
r 


1 


said 
and 


As  Ion.:;  as  these  walls  stand  or  wc  dudl  in 
them,  this  is  t..  he  the  ro.un  ..f  eharitv  and 
kindness  to  all  creatures." 


I'KdI'I'I;!.    JM,,   a    CUIcJIf. 

Although   u-e  exerted  ourselves,  conversation 
Ha--ed  din-in-  the  visit  of    Mrs.  Walters.      Sev- 
en.!   times    she    he.^an    to    speak,    but.    with    a 
H  241 


-5| 

i 
i 

'( 

;    .1 

10 


I 


H 


•t , 


(( 


/I 
I 


iri<;htcnc'cl  look  at  the  firoi>l:icc,  dropi)'-'  into 
a  cou^h,  or  cleared  her  throat  in  a  way  that 
called  to  mind  the  pleasing  hahit  of  Sir  Roger 
de  Coverley  in  the  (iardens  of  dray's  Inn. 

Later  in  the  evening  other  guests  came. 
Upon  each  the  law  of  that  fireside  was  lightly 
yet  gravely  impressed.  They  were  in  the  main 
the  few  friends  I  know  in  whom  such  an  out- 
ward check  would  call  lor  the  least  inner  re- 
straint; nevertheless,  on  what  a  footing  «>!  con- 
fidence it  j)laced  our  conversation!  To  wh;il 
a  commanding  level  we  were  safely  lifted  I 
For  nothing  so  releases  the  best  powers  of  the 
mind  as  the  understanding  that  the  entire  com- 
l)any  are  uniler  bond  to  keej)  the  peace  of  the 
finest  manners  and  of  |)erfect  breeding. 

And  (ieorgiana  —  how  she  shone!  I  knew 
that  she  coulil  perfectly  till  a  window;  I  now 
see  that  she  can  as  easily  fill  a  room.  Our 
bodies  were  grouped  about  the  fireplace  ;  our 
minds  centred  around  her,  and  she  flashed  like 
the  evening  star  along  our  intellectual  jjathway. 

Tlvj  next  day  Mrs.  Walters  talked  a  long 
time  to  (ieorgiana  on  the  edge  of  the  porch. 

Thus  my  wife  and  I  have  begun  life  together. 
I  think  that  most  of  our  evenings  will  be  spent 

J42 


) 


in  the  room  clcdicatcd  to  a  kiiKi  word  for  uni- 
versal lite.  \o  mitter  how  dosolv  the  w.^rrin;; 
forces  ot  existence,  uithin  or  withort.  have 
presseti  upon  us  eUeuhcre.  wiicn  we  enter  there 
we  enter  peace.  We  shall  j)c  walird  in  from 
all  darkness  of  whatsoever  nieanin-;;  our  better 
selves  will  he  the  sole  -quests  ol    those  luminous 

hours       And  surely  no  ^qvater  - l-tortune  (  m 

hetall  any  household  than  to  escape  an  i-nohle 
evenin-.  To  attain  a  noble  one  i>  like  Ivin- 
calmly  down  to  sleep  on  a  niMimtain-top  towards 
which  our  feet  have  stru--lc(l  upward  amid 
enemies  all  dav   Ion-. 

Althou-h    we    have    now    been    two    months 
married.     I     li.,ve     not    yet    captured    the    old 
uneaptuuble    loveliness    of    natiuv    which    has 
always    led    me   and    stili    leads    me    on    in    the 
person     ,|    ( ieor.-iana.       I    know    but    too    well 
now    that    I    never    shall.      The    charm    in    her 
which    I    pursue,    ft    never    overtake,    is    part 
and    parcel   of   thai    un-raspab!e  beautv  of  the 
world    which    i-.rever    foils    the    sense    while    it 
sways  the  sj)irit  —of  that  elusive,  infinite  splen- 
dour of  Cod  which  flows  from  alar  into  all  ter- 
restrial  thin-s.  fillino-  them    as   colour   fills   the 
rose.     ]-:ven  while  I   live  with  (ieorj^iana  in  the 
closest  of  human   relationships,  .she  retains  for 

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1 


me  the  iincomprehendcd  brightness  and  fresh- 
ness of  a  dream  that  does  not  end  and  has  no 
waking. 

This  but  edges  yet  more  sharply  the  eagerness 
of  my  desire  to  enfold  her  entire  self  into  mine. 
We  have  been  a  revelation  to  each  other,  but 
the  revelation  is  not  complete  ;  there  are  cur- 
tains behind  curtains,  which  one  by  one  we 
seek  to  lift  as  we  penetrate  more  deejily  into  the 
discoveries  of  our  union.  Sometimes  she  will 
seek  me  out  and,  sitting  beside  me,  put  her  arm 
around  my  neck  and  k)ok  long  into  my  eyes, 
full  of  a  sort  of  beautiful,  divine  wonder  at  what 
I  am,  at  what  love  is,  at  what  it  means  for  a 
man  and  woman  to  live  together  as  we  live. 
Yet,  folded  to  me  thus,  she  also  craves  a  still 
larger  fulfilment.  Often  she  appears  to  be 
vainly  hovering  on  the  other  side  of  a  too  vSolid 
sphere,  seeking  an  entrance  to  where  I  really 
am.  Even  during  the  intimate  silences  of  the 
night  we  try  to  reach  one  another  through  the 
throbbing  walls  of  flesh  —  we  but  cling  together 
across  the  lone,  impassable  gulfs  of  individual 
being. 

During  these  October  nights  the  moon  has 
reached  its  fulness  and  the  earth  been  flooded 
with  beauty. 

244 


? 


i 


(Ji'.r  bed  is  i^laccd  near  a  window;  and  as  the 
planet  sinks  across  the  sky  its  ravs  stream 
tlin)U^L,rh  the  open  shutter  and  fall  upon  (Geor- 
gian a  in  her  sleej^  Sometimes  I  lie  awake  for 
the  sole  chance  of  seein.i;-  them  Hoat  upon  her 
hair,  pass  ]ini;crini;ly  across  her  face,  and  steal 
holily  downward  along  her  hgure.  How  august 
she  is  in  her  purity  !  the  whiteness  of  the  fairest 
cloud  that  brushes  the  silvering  orb  is  as  picch 
to  the  whiteness  of  her  nature. 

The  other  night  as  I  lay  watching  her  thus, 
and  while  the  lower  jKirt  of  the  bed  remained 
in  decj)  shadow,  I  could  see  that  the  thin  cover- 
ing had  slipped  aside,  leaving  (ieorgiana's  feet 
exposed. 

With  a  start  of  pain  I  recollected  an  old  story 
about  her  childhood  :  that  one  day  for  the  sake 
of  her  rights  she  had  received  a  wound  in  one 
of  her  feet  —  how  serious  I  had  never  known, 
but  perhaps  deforming,  irremediable.  My  head 
was  raised  on  the  pillow;  the  moonlight  was 
moving  down  that  way  ;  it  would  cross  her  feet ; 
it  would  reveal  the  truth. 

I  turned  my  face  away  and  closed  my  eyes. 


M 


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^JVT7'_{L    IS  nearly  dark  when  I  reach  home 
from    town    these    January    even- 


inf;s.    However  the  cold  may  stin^i; 

the   face  and   dart   inward   to   the 

marrow,    (ieor<;iana   is   waiting;   at 

the    yard    gate    to    meet    me,    so 

hooded   and    shawled    and    ringed 

//^■^_  \V~^^,       about  with  petticoats  —  like  a  tree 

M.W'^'^^      within  its  layers  of  bark  — that 

^>-^^j2)j->Y^\     she  looks  like  the  most  thick- 

^'0'!ii.l^^         set   of   ordinary-sized   women; 

' '-  ^LS^X^'^  for   there    is  a  heave.>ly  but 

246 


so 


very    human    secret    hidin,<;    in    this    household 
now,  and  she  is  thou,<;htlully   keepini;  it. 

We  press  our  halt-frozen  cheeks  to--ether,  as 
red  as  wine-sap  apj)les,  and  ^aope  lor  each 
vJther's  hand  through  our  bijjj  lamb's-wool  mit- 
tens, and  warm  our  hearts  with  the  kiughter  in 
each  other's  eyes.  One  evening  she  feigned  to 
be  mounted  on  guard,  pacing  to  and  fro  inside 
the  gate,  against  which  rested  an  enormous 
icicle.  When  I  started  to  enter  she  seized 
the  icicle,  presented  arms,  and  demanded  the 
countersign. 

"Love,  captain."  I  said.  "If  it  be  not  that, 
slay  me  at  your  feet  f  " 

She  threw  away  her  great  white  spear  and 
put  her  arms  around  mv  neck. 

"It  is  'Peace."  "  she  said.  "  Hut  I  desert  to 
the  enemv." 

Without  going  to  my  fireside  that  evening  I 
hurried  on  to  the  stnblc ;  for  I  do  not  relin- 
quish to  my  servants  the  office  of  feeding  my 
stock. 

Believe  in  the  divine  rights  of  kings  I  never 
shall,  except  in  the  divine  right  to  be  kingly 
men.  which  all  men  share;  but  trulv  a  divine 
right  lies  for  any  man  in  the  ownership  of  a 
comfortable    barn    in   winter.      It  is  the   feudal 

247 


1.^ 


r. 


f 


castle  of  the  farm  to  the  lower  animals,  who 
dwell  in  the  Dark  Ages  of  their  kind  —  dwell 
on  and  on  in  affection,  submission,  and  trust, 
while  their  lord  demands  of  them  their  labour, 
their  sustenance,  their  life. 

Of  a  winter's  day,  when  these  poor  serfs  have 
been  scattered  over  the  portionless  earth,  how 
often  they  look  towards  this  fortress  and  lift  up 
their  voices  with  cries  for  night  to  come  ;  the 
horses,  ruffled  and  shivering,  with  their  tails  to 
the  wind,  as  they  snap  their  frosted  fodder,  or 
paw  through  the  rime  to  the  frozen  grass  under- 
neath, causing  their  icy  fetlocks  to  rattle  about 
their  hoofs ;  the  cattle,  crowded  to  leeward  of 
some  deep-buried  haystack,  the  exposed  side  of 
the  outermost  of  them  white  with  whirling  flakes ; 
the  sheep,  turning  their  pitiful,  trusting  eyes 
about  them  over  the  fields  of  storm  in  earth  and 
skv. 

^Vhat  joy  at  nightfall  to  gather  them  home  to 
food  and  warmth  and  rest !  If  there  is  ever  a 
time  when  I  feel  myself  a  mediaeval  lord  to  trusty 
vassals,  it  is  then.  Of  a  truth  I  pass  entirely 
over  the  Middle  Ages,  joining  my  life  to  the 
most  ancient  dwellers  of  the  plains,  and  becom- 
ing a  simple  father  of  flocks  and  herds.  When 
they  have  been  duly  stabled  according  to  their 

248 


kinds,  I  climb  to  the  crib  in  the  l)arn  and  create 
a  g:jat  landsHde  of  the  fat  ears  that  is  like 
laughter;  and  then  from  every  stall  what  a 
hearty,  healthy  chorus  of  cries  and  petitions 
responds  to  that  laughtf.r  of  the  corn!  What 
squeals  and  grunts  persuasive  beyond  the  realms 
of  rhetoric  !  What  a  blowing  of  mellow  horns 
from  the  cows  !  And  the  quick  nostril  trumpet- 
call  of  the  horse,  how  eager,  how  dependent,  yet 
how  commanding !  As  I  mount  to  the  top  of 
the  pile,  if  I  ever  feel  myself  a  royal  personage 
it  is  then;  I  ascend  my  throne;  I  am  king  of 
the  corn  ;  and  there  is  not  a  brute  or  peasant  in 
my  domain  that  does  not  worship  me  as  ruler  of 
heaven  and  earth. 

Or  I  love  to  catch  up  the  bundles  of  oats  as 
they  are  thrown  down  from  the  loft  and  send 
them  whirling  through  the  cutting-box  so  fast 
that  they  pour  into  the  big  baskets  like  streams 
of  melted  gold;  or,  grasping  my  pitchfork,  I 
stuff  the  ricks  over  the  mangers  with  the  rich 
aromatic  hay  until  I  am  as  warm  as  when  I 
loaded  the  wagons  with  it  at  midsummer  noons. 
With  what  sweet  sounds  and  odours  now  the 
whole  barn  is  filled  !  How  robust,  clean,  well- 
meaning  are  my  thoughts  !  In  what  comfort  of 
mind  I  can  turn  to  my  own  roof  and  store  ! 

249 


!1 


•*';I  il , 


This  hour  in  my  stable  is  the  only  one  out  of 
the  twenty-four  left  to  me  in  which  my  feet  may 
cross  the  boundary  of  human  Hfe  into  the  world 
of  the  other  creatures;  for  I  have  gone  into 
businers  in  town  to  gratify  Georgiana.  I  think 
little  enough  of  this  business  otherwise.  Every 
day  I  pass  through  the  groove  of  it  with  no  more 
intellectual  satisfaction  in  it  than  I  feel  an  intel- 
lectual satisfaction  in  passing  my  legs  tiirough 
my  pantaloons  of  a  morning.  But  a  man  can 
study  nothing  in  nature  that  does  not  outreach 
his  powers. 

If  time  is  left  after  feeding,  I  veer  off  from 
the  barn  to  the  wood-))ile,  for  I  love  to  wield  an 
axe,  besides  having  a  taste  to  cut  mv  own  v.ood 
for  the  nightl)  burning.  This  evening  I  could 
but  sto])  to  notice  how  the  turkcxs  in  the  tree- 
toj)s  looked  like  enormous  black  nutgalls  on  the 
limbs,  except  that  the  wind  whisked  their  tails 
about  as  cheerily  as  though  they  were  alreadv 
hearth-brooms. 

It  is  well  for  my  poor  turkeys  that  their  tails 
contain  no  moisture ;  for  on  a  night  like  this 
they  would  freeze  stiff,  and  the  least  incautious 
movement  of  a  fowl  in  the  morning  would  serve 
to  crack  its  tail  off —  up  to  the  pope's  nose. 

As   I   set  my  foot  on   the  door-step,  I  went 

250 


' 


^■n^:F  li 


back  l(»  sjc  whether  the  two  snow-birds  wen' 
in  their  ni<;htly  places  under  the  rool  ot  the 
porch  —  the  guardian  spirits  oi  our  portal. 
There  they  were,  wedged  each  into  a  snu^ 
corner  as  tightly  as  possible,  so  not  to  break 
their  feathers,  and  leaving  but  one  side  exposed. 
Happening  to  have  some  wheat  in  my  pocket, 
I  pitched  the  grains  up  to  the  projecting  ledge  ; 
they  can  take  their  breakfast  in  bed  when  they 
wake  in  the  morning.  Little  philosophers  of 
"he  frost,  who  even  in  their  overcoats  c()nd)ine 
the  dark  side  and  the  white  side  of  life  into 
a  wise  and  weathering  gray  —  the  no  less  tit 
external  for  a  man. 

The  thought  of  them  to-nigh,  put  me  strongly 
in  mind  of  a  former  habit  of  mine  to  walk  under 
♦:he  cedar-trees  at  such  dark  winter  twilights 
and  listen  to  the  low  calls  of  the  birds  as  the\- 
gathered  in  and  settled  down.  I  have  no  time 
for  such  pleasant  ways  now  ;  they  have  been 
given  up  along  with  my  other  studies. 

This  winter  of  1S51  and  1852  has  been  cold 
beyond  the  memory  of  man  in  Kentucky  —  the 
memory  of  the  white  man,  which  goes  back 
some  three-quarters  of  a  century.  Twice  the 
Ohio  River  has  been  frozen  over,  a  sight  he  had 
never    seen.      The   thermometer    has    fallen    to 


n . 


thirty  decrees  below  zero.  Unheard-of  snows 
have  blocked  the  two  or  three  railroads  we  have 
in  the  State.  News  comes  that  people  are  v,alk- 
in<.j  over  the  ice  on  luist  River,  New  York,  and 
that  the  Mississii)])i  at  Memphis  bears  the 
weij.;ht  of  a  man  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
bank. 

Behind  this  winter  lay  last  year's  sprini,^  of 
rigours  hitherto  unknown,  destroying  orchards, 
vineyards,  countless  tender  trees  and  plants. 
It  set  everybody  to  talkini^  of  the  year  I1S34, 
when  such  a  frost  fell  that  to  this  day  it  is 
known  as  l^lack  Friday  in  Kentucky ;  and  it 
f^ave  me  occasion  to  tell  Georgiana  a  story  my 
grandfather  had  told  me,  of  how  one  night  in 
the  wilderness  the  weather  grew  so  terrible  that 
the  wild  beasts  came  out  of  the  forests  to  shel- 
ter themselves  around  the  cabins  of  the  pioneers, 
and  how  he  was  awakened  by  them  fighting  and 
crowding  for  places  against  the  warm  walls  and 
chimney-corners.  If  he  had  but  opened  his 
door  and  crept  back  into  bed,  he  might  soon 
have  had  a  buffalo  on  one  side  of  his  fireplace 
and  a  bear  on  the  other,  with  a  wild-cat  aslecj) 
on  the  hearth  between,  and  with  the  thin-skinned 
deer  left  shivering  outside  as  truly  as  if  they 
had  all  been  human  beings. 

252 


Such  a  sprin,!;,   with   its  dostruction   of   secd- 
beariii-    and     niit-hca:in;<    vegetation,    followed 
by  a  winter  that  seals  undei-  ice  what  may  have 
been    produced,    has    spread    starvation    amon^^ 
the   wild    creatures.       A    recent    Sunday  after- 
noon   walk    in    the    woods   -  Geor<;iana    bein.L;- 
away    from    home   with    her    mother  —  showed 
me  that  i)art  of   the  earth's  surface  rolled  out 
as  a  vast  white  chart,  on  which  were  traced  the 
desperate  travels  of  the  snow-walkers  in  search 
of   food.       Squirrel,   chipmunk,    rabbit,    weazel, 
mouse,    mink,    fox  — their    tracks    crossed    and 
recrossed,   wound    in    and    out    and   round   and 
round,  makin<,r  an  intricate   lace-work  beautiful 
and  pitiful  to  behold.     c:row-i)rints  rin^^ed  every 
corn-shuck  in  the   field.      At  the   base   of   one 
I  picked  up  a  frozen  dove  —starved  at  the  br'nk 
of    ])lenty.      Rabbit   tracks   o-rew  thickest  as    I 
entered   my  turnip   and   cabbaj;-e   patches,  con- 
verging- towards   ,ny   house,   and    coming  to   a 
focus  at  a  group  of  snow-covered  jjyramids,  in 
which  last  autumn,  as  usual,  I  buried  mv  ve"-e- 
tables.     I  told  Georgiana  : 

"They  are  attracted  by  the  leaves  that  Dilsy 
throws  away  when  she  gets  out  what  we  need. 
Think  of  it  —  a  whole  neighbourhood  of  rabbits 
hurrying  here  after  dark   for  the  chance  of    a 


253 


•'^-3ir*--'-*tfj£'  l^M..^^^ 


l)arc  Mihble  at  a  possible  leal."  Oiko  that 
n'\\r\n  1  uinicd  in  Ik-iI,  restless.  (leorj^iana  tlid 
the  same. 

"  Are  you  awake  .•*  "  she  said  softly. 

"Are  you  ?" 

"Are  vou  thinkinj;  about  the  rabbits.^" 

"  Are  you  ?  " 

"What    do    you    suppose    they    think    about 


us,^" 


I'd  lather  not  know." 


Geort^iana  tells  me  that  the  birds  in  unusual 
numbers  are  winterinj;  amon,LC  the  trees,  driven 
to  us  with  the  boldness  ol  desjjair.  God  and 
nature  have  forj^otten  them  ;  they  have  nothini;" 
to  choose  between  but  death  and  man.  She 
has  taken  my  place  as  their  almoner  and  ni_L;htlv 
renders  me  an  account  of  what  she  has  done. 
This  wint''r  pjives  her  a  i;rcat  chance  and  she 
adorns  it.  It  seems  that  never  before  were  so 
many  red-birds  in  the  cedars  ;  and  althou<.;h  one 
subject  is  never  mentioned  between  us,  uncon- 
sciously she  dwells  upon  these  in  her  talk,  and 
•plainly  favours  them  in  her  affection  for  the 
sake  of  the  past.  There  are  many  stories  1 
could  relate  to  show  how  simple  and  beautiful 
is  this  whole  aspect  of  her  nature. 

254 


A  litllc  thin--  happnu-d  to  ju'wht. 
'I'ouards    ten    (.'clock    she    brou-ht    my    luil, 
overcoat,  overshoes,  mittens,  comlorter. 
"  I'ut  the:.i  on,"  she  said  mysteriously. 
She  also   <r„t  ready,  separalin-    hersell"  from 
nic  by  so  many  clothes  that  I  could  almost  have 
tclt  myself  entitled  to  a  divorce. 

It  was  like    day  out-of-doors  with  the  moon 
shinin-  (,n    the  snow.     We    crept    towards  the 
garden,  screened  behind  out-buildin-s.     When 
we    reached     the     fence,    we     looked    throu-h 
towards  the  white  pyramids.     All  that  part  ",f 
the  ground  was  alive  with  rabbits.     Georgiana 
had  spread  for  them  a  banquet  of  Luculkis.  a 
lielshazzar's  feast.     It  had  been  done  to  please 
me,  I  knew,  and  out  of  a  certain  playfulness  of 
her  own  ;  but  there  are  other  charities  of  hers, 
which  she  thinks    known   only  to  herself,  that 
show  as  well  the  divine  drift  of    her  thouuht- 
fulness. 

She  is  asleep  now  — for  the  sake  of  the 
Secret.  After  she  had  -one  to  bed,  what  with 
the  spectacle  of  the  rabbits  and  what  with  our 
talk  beforehand  of  the  many  cardinals  in  the 
cedars,  my  thoughts  began  to  run  freshl>-  on 
old  subjects,  and.  unlocking  my  bureau,  I  got 
out  my  notes  and   drawings    for   the  work    on 

255 


i 


Kentucky  birds.  ( jcDi^iaiia  d(Ks  imi  know 
that  the\'  exist;  she  ne\ci'  shall.  With  what 
authority  those  studies  call  me  still,  as  with 
a  truirij)et  i'roiii  the  skies!  aiul  I  know  that 
trumpet  will  sound  on  till  m\'  ears  are  past 
hearitiL;.  Sometimes  1  look  ujjon  m)selt"  as  a 
man  who  has  had  two  hearts;  one  lies  buried 
in  the  woods,  and  the  other  sits  at  the  tire- 
side  thinking  of  it.  lUit  sleej")  on,  (ieort;iana 
—  mother  that  is  to  be.  The  dieams  of  your 
life  shall  nevei-  be  disturbed  'u<  the  old  dreams 
of  mine. 


256 


.1 


t .  w 


i1 


^hlJ<.  population  of  this 
town  on  yestcrda)-  was 
seven  thousand  linc 
hundred  and  twenty ; 
to-day  it  is  seven  thou- 
sand nine  hundred  and 
tw\;nty  -  our.  'I'ho  in- 
habitants of  the  globe  are  enriched  by  th- 
same  stupendous  unit;  the  solar  system  must 
adjust  itself  to  new  laws  of  equilibrium;  the 
choir  of  angels  is  sweetened  by  the  advent  of 
another  musician.      During  the  night  Georgiana 

-  5  / 


\, 


bore  a  son — not  during  the  night,  but  at  tlawn, 
amid  sueh  singing  of  birds  that  every  tree  in  the 
yard  became  a  dew-hung  belfry  of  chimes,  ring- 
ing a  welcome  to  the  heir  of  this  old  house  and 
of  these  old  trees  —  to  the  dispenser  of  seed 
during  winters  to  come — to  the  proprietor  of  a 
whole  race  of  seed-scatterers  as  long  as  nature 
shall  be  harsh  and  seasons  shall  return. 

I  had  already  bought  the  largest  family  Bible 
in  town  as  a  repository  for  his  name,  Adam 
Cobb  Moss,  which  in  clear  euphony  is  most 
fit  to  be  enrolled  among  the  sweetly  sounding 
vocables  of  the  Hebrew  children.  The  page  for 
the  registration  of  later  births  in  my  family  is 
so  large  and  the  lines  ruled  across  it  are  so 
many  that  I  am  deeply  mortified  over  this  soli- 
tary entry  at  the  top.  But  surely  Georgiana 
and  I  would  have  to  live  far  jDast  the  ages  of 
Abraham  and  Sarah  to  fill  it  with  the  requisite 
\vealth  of  offspring,  beginning  as  we  do,  and  be- 
ing without  divine  assistance.  When  the  name 
of  our  eldest-born  is  inscribed  in  this  Bible,  not 
far  away  will  be  found  a  scene  in  the  home  of 
his  first  parents,  Georgiana  and  I  being  only 
the  last  of  these,  and  giving,  as  it  were,  merely 
the    finishing    Kentucky    touch    to    his   Jewish 


origin. 


258 


'  Bible 

Adam 

most 

mdin<r 


But  r  fjambol  in  spirit  like  a  hawk  in  tlic  air. 
Let  me  hood  myself  with  parental  cares;  I  have 
been  a  sire  for  half  a  day. 

I  am  speechless  before  the  stupendous  wisdom 
ol  my  son  in  view  of  his  stupendous  ignorance. 
Already  he  lectures  to  the  old  peoj)le  about  the 
house  on   the   perfect  conduct  of  life,  and   the 
only  preparation  that  he  requires  for  his  lectures 
is  a  few  drops  of  milk.      By  means  of  these,  and 
without  any  knowled^^e  of  anatomy,  he  will  show 
us,  for  instance,  what  it  is  to  be  master  of  the 
science  of  vital  functions.     When  he  re^-ards  it 
neces.sary  to  do  anythin<^^  he  does  it  instantly 
and  i)erfectly,  and  the  world  may  take  the  conse- 
(|uences  and  the  result.     He  forthwith  addresses 
him.self  to   fresh    comfort  and   new  enterprises 
for  self-development.      Beyond  what  is  vital  he 
refuses  to  <;o ;  thin-:s  that  do  not  concern  him 
he   lets   alone.       He   has   no   cares   beyond    his 
needs;  all  space  to  him  is  what  he  can  fill,  all 
time  his  instant  of  action.     Me  does  not  know 
where   he   came    from,    what    he    is,   why   here, 
whither  bound  ;   nor  does  he  ask. 

My  heart  aches  helplessly  for  him  when  he 
shall  have  become  a  man  and  have  i^aown  less 
wise  :  when  he  shall  tind  it  necessary  to  act  for 

^59 


f 


«  •   ' 


himself  and  shall  yet  be  troubled  by  what  his 
companions  may  think;  when  he  shall  no  longer 
live  within  the  fortress  of  the  vital,  but  take  up 
his  wandering  abode  with  the  husks  and  swine ; 
when  he  shall  no  longer  let  the  world  pass  by 
him  with  heed  only  as  there  is  need,  but  weary 
himself  to  better  the  unchangeable  ;  when  space 
shall  not  be  some  quiet  nook  of  the  world  large 
enough  for  the  cradle  of  his  life,  but  the  illimit- 
able void  filled  with  floating  spheres,  out  upon 
the  myriads  of  which,  with  his  poor,  puzzled 
eyes,  he  will  pitifully  gaze  ;  when  time  shall  not 
be  his  instant  of  action,  but  two  eternities,  past 
and  future,  along  the  baflfling  walls  of  which  he 
will  lead  I'is  gro])ing  faith  ;  and  when  the  ques- 
tioning of  his  stoutest  years  shall  be:  Whence 
came  I  ?  And  what  am  I  ?  Why  here  for  a 
little  while  ?  Where  to  be  hereafter  ?  A  swim- 
mer is  drowned  by  a  wave  originating  in  the 
moon ;  a  traveller  is  struck  down  by  a  bolt 
originating  in  a  cloud  ;  a  workman  is  overcome 
by  the  heat  originating  in  the  sun ;  and  so, 
perhaps,  the  end  will  come  to  him  through  his 
solitary  struggle  with  the  great  powers  of  the 
universe  that  ])erpetually  reach  him,  but  remain 
forever  beyond  his  reach.  If  I  could  [nit  forth 
one   protecting  prayer  that  would  cover  all  his 

260 


U> 


years,  it  would  he  that  thrnup^h  life  he  continue 
as  wise  as  the  chi\'  he  was  horn. 


The  third  of  June  once  more.  Rain  fell  all 
yesterday,  all  last  nit;-ht.  This  mornin,i;-  earth 
and  sky  are  dark  and  chill.  The  plants  are 
bowed  down,  and  no  wind  releases  them  from 
their  burden  of  large  white  drops.  About  the 
yard  the  red-rose  bushes  fall  awav  from  the 
fences,  the  lilacs  stand  with  their  purple  clus- 
ters hanging  down  as  heavilv  as  clusters  of 
))uri)le  grapes.  I  hear  the  young  orioles  calling 
drearily  from  wet  nests  under  dripping  boughs. 
A  plaintive  piping  of  hjst  little  chickens  comes 
from  the  long  grass. 

How  unlike  the  dav  is  to  the  third  of  June 
two  years  ago.  I  was  in  the  strawberry  bed 
that  crystalline  morning  ;  Georgiana  came  to  the 
window,  and  [  beheld  her  for  the  first  time. 
How  imlike  the  same  day  one  year  back.  Again 
I  was  in  the  strawberry  bed,  again  Georgiana 
came  to  the  window  and  spoke  to  me  as  before. 
This  morning  as  I  tipjied  into  her  room  w'here 
she  lav  in  her  bed,  she  turned  her  face  to  me 
on  the  pillow,  and  for  the  third  time  she  said, 
f(^ndly: 

"  Are  you  the  gardener  ?  " 

2(n 


1-1  « 


1^ 


The  sky  bcini;  so  blanketed  with  cloud, 
;ilthou;2jh  the  shutters  were  oj^en,  only  ;i  faint 
i;ray  li^ht  tilled  the  room.  It  was  the  first  day 
that  she  had  been  well  enough  to  have  it  done; 
but  now  the  bed  in  which  Georgiana  lay  was 
spread  with  the  most  beautiful  draperies  of 
white;  the  pillows  were  rich  with  needL-work 
and  lace,  and  for  the  first  time  she  h;^,d  put  on 
the  badge  of  her  new  dignity,  a  little  white  ca|) 
of  ribbons  and  lace,  tho  long  wide  streamers  of 
which,  edged  with  lace,  lay  out  upon  the  coun- 
terpane like  bands  of  the  most  delicate  frost. 
The  fingers  of  one  hand  rested  lightly  on  the 
child  beside  her,  as  though  she  were  counting 
the  pulse  of  its  oncoming  life.  Out  in  the  yard 
the  lilies  of  the  valley,  slipping  out  of  their  cool 
sheaths  of  green  leaves,  were  not  more  white, 
more  fresh.  And  surely  Georgiana's  g^.ycty  is 
the  unconquerable  gayety  of  the  worid,  the 
youthfulness  of  immortal  youth. 

I  went  over  to  her  with  the  strange  new  awe 
I  feel  at  mv  union  with  the  voung  mother,  where 
hitherto  there  has  but  been  a  union  with  the 
woman  I  love.  She  stretched  out  her  hands  to 
me,  almo5-t  hidden  under  the  lace  of  her  sleeves, 
and  drcNv  my  face  down  against  hers,  as  she 
said  in  mv  ear  — 

262 


I 


' 


"  Xon'  you  arc  the  old  Adam  I  " 

When  she  released  me.  she  heiU  over  the 
child  and  added,  reproachfully  — 

*'^'o^l  haven't  paid  the  least  attention  to  the 
baby." 

"  I  haven't  noticed  that  the  bal^y  has  bestowed 
the  least  attention  uj)on  me.    1  le  is  the  yoimL,^esl." 

"He  is  the  ^aiest  of  the  house'  It  is  your 
duty  to  speak  to  him  first." 

"  He  doesn't  act  like  a  -uest  in  mv  house. 
He  behaves  as  though  he  owned  it.  I'm  nobody 
since  he  arrived  — not  even  his  body-servant." 

Georgiana,  who  was  still  bending  over  the 
child,  glanced  up  with  a  look  of  confidential, 
whimsical  distress. 

"  How  fo///(/  anything  so  old  be  born  so 
young ! " 

"He  will  look  younger  as  he  gets  older,"  I 
replied.  "And  he  will  not  be  the  first  bachelor 
to  do  that.  At  present  this  youngster  is  an 
invaluable  human  document  in  too  large  an 
envelope:  that's  all." 

Georgiana,  with  a  swift,  protecting  movement, 
leaned  riearer  to  the  child,  and  spoke  to  him  : 

"  It's  your  house ;  tell  him  to  leave  the  room 
for  his  impertinence." 

"He  may  have  the   house,  since  it's  hi.s,"  I 

>3 


26' 


,^i 


t 


replied.  "  l^iit  there  is  one  thii^i;  I'll  not  stand  ; 
it  he  ever  eonies  between  me  and  you,  he'll  ha\e 
to  ^o ;   I'll  present  him  to  Mrs.  Walters." 

I  was  not  aware  of  the  expression  with  whieh 
I  stood  looking  down  upon  my  son,  but  Cieor,i;i- 
ana  must  have  noticed  it. 

"And  what  if  he  supplants  me  some  dav  .' " 
she  asked,  suddenlv  serious,  and  with  an  old 
fear  revivinj:^. 

"Oh,  Gcors^iana ! "  T  cried,  kneeling;  by  the 
bedside  and  puttinj;-  my  arms  around  her,  "you 
know  that  as  lonir  as  we  are  in  this  world  I  am 
your  lover." 

"No  longer.-^"  she  whispered,  drawinp^  me 
closer. 

"  r'orever  I  " 

By-and-by  I  went  out  to  the  strawberry  bed. 
The  season  was  too  backward.  Not  one  was 
turning;.  With  bitter  disap])ointment  T  searched 
the  cold,  wet  leaves,  bendini;  them  apart  for  the 
si<;ht  of  as  much  as  one  scarlet  lobe,  that  I  mi.i^ht 
take  it  in  to  her  if  only  for  remembrance  of  the 
day.  At  last  I  piathered  a  few  perfect  leaves 
and  blossoms,  and  jirest^itcd  them  to  her  in 
silence  on  a  j^late  with  a  waiter  and  na|:)kin. 

She  rewarded  me  with  a  laugh,  and  lifted  from 
the  plate  a  spray  of  blossoms. 

264 


"They  will  be  ripe  liy  the  time  I  am  well," 
she  said,  the  sunli,<;ht  of  memory  comin,<;-  out 
upon  her  face.  Then  having-  touched  the  wet 
blossoms  with  her  rin.i;er-tips,  she  dropped  them 
(juickly  back  into  the  ))late. 

"How  cold  they  are!"  she  said,  as  a  shiver 
ran  throu-h  her.  At  the  same  time  she  looked 
quickly  at  me,  her  eyes  grown  dark  with  dread. 

I  set  the  plate  hastily  dr  rn,  and  she  put  her 
hands  in  mine  to  warm  them. 


265 


I 


r 


'    I 


I 


\ 


f    .1 


h 


/m\   M  / 


1  ;'",!|i 


,1 


^ 


\ 


"4  , 


/ 


VII 


MONTH  has  -one 
by  siiu'c  Gcor^iana 
jKisscd  away. 

To-dav,  for  the 
first  time,  I  went 
l)ack  to  the  woods. 
It  was  pleasant  to 
be  surrounded  again  by  the  ever-living  earth 
that  feels  no  loss  and  has  no  memory  ;  that  was 
sere  yesterday,  is  green  to-day,  will  be  sere  again 
to-morrow,  then  green  once  more ;  that  pauses 
not  for  wounds  and  wrecks,  nor  lingers  over 
death  and  change ;  but  onward,  ever  onward, 
along  the  groove  of  law,  passes  from  its  red 
origin  in  universal  flame  to  its  white  end  in  uni- 
versal snow. 

266 


1' 


Ik 


Alul  yet.  as  I  apiiioailu'd  tlu-  cd-c  ot  the 
toresl,  it  was  as  th()U;;h  an  invisible  c()nij)any 
of  inHuences  came  gently  torth  to  meet  me  and 
sought  to  draw  me  back  into  their  old  triend- 
ship.  I  found  myself  stroking  the  trunks  of 
the  trees  as  I  would  throw  my  arm  around  the 
shoulders  of  a  tried  comrade;  I  drew  down  the 
branches  and  i)lunged  my  face  into  the  new 
leaves  as  into  a  tonic  stream. 

Yesterday  a  wind  storm  swejit  this  neighbour- 
hood. Later,  deep  in  the  woods,  I  came  upon 
an  elm  that  had  been  .struck  by  a  bolt  at  the 
top.  Nearly  half  the  trunk  had  been  torn  away; 
and  one  huge  limb  lay  across  my  path. 

As  I  stood  looking  at  it,  the  single  note  of  a 
bird  fell  on  my  ear  —  always  the  same  note,  low, 
quiet,  regular,  devoid  of  feeling,  as  though  the 
bird  had  been  stunned  and  were  trying  to  sav  : 
What  can  I  do  ?  Wluxt  can  I  do  /  What  can  I 
do  ? 

I  knew  what  that  note  meant.  It  was  the 
note  witl'  which  a  bird  now  and  then  linuers 
around  the  scene  of  the  central  tragedv  of  its 
life. 

After  a  long  search  I  found  the  nest,  crushed 
against  the  ground  under  the  huge  limb,  and  a 
few  feet  from  it,  in  the  act  of  trying  to  escape, 

267 


I 


I 


the  male.  Tlic  ti'inalc.  silting  nicanliine  (»ii  tlu- 
end  ot  a  boii^h  near  by,  watched  nie  ineuri- 
oiisly,  and  with  no  ehani^e  in  that  cjuiet,  reguhir. 
careless  note  —  she  knew  only  too  well  that  he 
was  past  my  harmin<;.  The  plan  of  their  lite 
had  leached  an  end  in  early  summer. 

I  sat  down  near  by  for  a  while,  thinking'  ot 
the  universal  traj^edy  of  the  nest. 

It  was  the  second  time  to-day  that  this  di- 
vine wastaj^e  in  nature  had  forced  itself  on  my 
thought,  and  this  morning  the  spectacle  was  on 
a  scale  of  tragic  greatness  beyond  anything  that 
has  ever  touched  human  life  in  this  part  of  the 
country:  Mr.  Clay  was  buried  amid  the  long, 
sad  blare  of  music,  the  tolling  of  bells,  the  roll 
of  drums,  the  boom  of  cannon,  and  the  grief  of 
thousands  upon  thousands  upon  thousands  of 
people  —  a  vast  and  solemn  pageant,  yet  as 
nothing  to  the  multitudes  that  will  attend  afar. 
I'"or  him  this  day  the  flags  of  nations  will  fly 
half-mast ;  and  the  truly  great  men  of  the  world, 
wherever  the  tidings  may  reach  them  of  his 
passing,  will  stand  awe-stricken  that  one  of 
their  superhuman  company  has  been  too  soon 
withdrawn. 

Too  soon  withdrawn!  Therein  is  the  tragedy 
of  the  nest,  the  wastage  of  the  strong,  the  law 

268 


'<[  loss,  whose  rci^n  on  «  arih  is  iiiK'nclii)-,  but 
whose  ri^^ht  to  rci-ii  no  1 1\  .ituic.  bnilc  or  human, 
ever  aeknowleil;j;es, 

Tlie  death  ot  Mr.  Chiy  is  one  ot  the  many 
thin^-s  that  aie  happcnin--  t(»  elian-e  all  thai 
made  u\)  my  lile  with  (ieori;iana.  She  was  a 
true  hero-worshijiper,  and  she  worshi|)ped  him. 
1  no  less.  Now  that  he  is  tlead,  I  Icel  as  niueh 
lonelier  as  a  soldier  leels  whose  ehosen  tent- 
mate  and  whose  i;eneral  have  fallen  on  the  field 
together. 

As  I  turned  away  from  the  overerowded  town 
this  alternoon  towards  the  woods  and  was  eon- 
fronted  by  the  wreek  of  the  storm,  mv  thoughts 
being  yet  full  of  Mr.  Clay,  of  his  enemies  and 
disappointment,  there  rose  before  my  mind  a 
scene  such  as  Audubon  may  once  have  wit- 
nessed : 

The  light  of  day  is  dying  over  the  forests 
of  the  upper  Mississijipi.  The  silence  of  high 
space  falls  upon  the  vast  stream.  On  a  thun- 
der-blasted tree-top  near  the  western  bank  sits 
a  lone,  stern  figure  waiting  for  its  lordliest  prey 
—  the  eagle  waiting  for  the  swan.  Long  the  still- 
ness continues  among  the  rocks,  the  tree-tops, 
and  above  the  river.  But  far  away  in  the  north 
a   white   shape   is   floating   nearer.      At  kist  it 

269 


comes  into  si\c;ht,  flyini^  heavily,  for  it  is  already 
weary,  bein.i;-  already  wounded.  The  next  mo- 
ment the  cry  of  its  comin<(  is  heard  echoing 
onward  and  downward  upon  the  silent  woods. 
Instantly  the  mi^^hty  watcher  on  the  summit  is 
alert  and  tense  ;  and  as  the  great  snowy  image 
of  the  swan  floats  by,  in  mid-air  and  midway  of 
the  broad  expanse  of  water,  he  meets  it.  No 
battle  is  fought  up  there  —  the  two  are  not  well 
matched  ;  and  thus,  separated  from  all  that  is 
little  and  struggling  far  above  all  that  is  low, 
with  the  daylight  dying  on  his  spotlessness,  the 
•wan  received  the  blow  in  its  heart. 

So  came  Death  to  the  great  Commoner. 

Oh,  Georgiana !  I  do  not  think  of  Death  as 
ever  having  come  to  you.  I  think  of  you  as 
some  strangely  beautiful  white  being  that  one 
day  rose  out  of  these  earthly  marshes  where 
hunts  the  dark  Fowler,  and  uttering  your  note 
of  divine  farewell,  spread  your  wings  towards 
the  open  sea  of  eternity,  there  to  wait  my  com- 
ing. 


270 


!     , 


'^'%^'i^ 


■C)  '■  -r.-^ 


V 


•.v'v 


(^ 


viir 


IS  a  year  and  four  months 
since     (ieoio-iarui     ]ett     nie, 
and    now     everythin<;    no^s 
on    nuieh    as    it    did    bdore 
she  came.     The  family  have 
moved    back    to   their   home 
m  Henderson.  returnin<,^  h'ke 
a  little  company  of  travellers 
who    have   lost   their   ^uide 
Sylvia  has  already  married  ;   her  brother  writes 
me  that  he  is   soon  to  be ;    the    mother    ^•isits 
me  and  my   child,  yearnino-lv.    bnt   seldom    on 
account  of   her  delicate    health;    and    thus  our 

271 


^'N  ' 


lives  gnnv  rlways  more  apart.  No  one  takes 
their  place,  the  house  havini;  passed  to  people 
with  whom,  beyond  all  neighbourly  civilities, 
I  have  naught  to  do.  Nowadays  as  I  stroll 
around  my  garden  with  my  little  boy  in  my 
arms,  strange  faces  look  down  upon  us  out  of 
Georgiana's  window. 

And  I  have  long  since  gone  back  to  Nature. 
When  the  harvest  has  been  gathered  from  our 
strong,  true  land,  a  growth  comes  on  which  late 
in  the  year  causes  the  earth  to  regain  some- 
what of  its  old  greenness.  New  blades  spring 
up  in  the  stubble  of  the  wheat ;  the  beeless 
clover  runs  and  blossoms ;  far  and  wide  over 
the  meadows  flow  the  tufted  billows  of  the 
grass  ;  and  in  the  woods  the  oak-tree  drops  the 
purple  and  brown  of  his  leaf  and  mast  upon  the 
verdure  of  June.  Everywhere  a  second  spring 
puts  fortli  between  summer  gone  and  winter 
Hearing.  It  is  the  overflow  of  plenty  beyond 
the  filling  of  the  barns.  It  is  a  wave  of  life 
following  quickly  ujion  the  one  that  bioke 
bountifully  at  our  feet.  It  is  nature's  refusal 
to  be  once  reaped  and  so  to  end. 

The  math  :  then  the  aftermath. 

Upon  the  Kentucky  landscape  daring  these 
October  days  there  lies  this  later  youth  of  the 

272 


year,  calm,  dee}),  vi-^orous.  And  as  I  spend 
much  time  in  it  for  the  fine,  fresh  work  it  brings 
to  hand  and  thought,  I  feel  that  in  my  way^I 
am  part  of  it,  that  I  can  match  the  aftermath 
of  nature  with  the  aftermath  of  my  life.  The 
Harvest  passed  over  my  fields,  leaving  them 
bare  ;  they  are  green  again  up  to  the  winter's 


edge. 


The   thought    has  now  come    into    my  mind 
that  I  shall   lay  aside  these  pages  for  my  son 
to  ponder  if   he  should  ever  grow  old  enough 
to  value  what    he  reads.     They   will    give  him 
some  account   of    how  his    father   and    mother 
met  in  the  old  time,  of  their  courting  days,  of 
their  happy  life  together.    And  since  it  becomes 
more  probable    that    there  will    be  a  war,  and 
that  I   might  not  be  living  to  speak  to  him  of 
his  mother  in  ways  not  written  here,  I  shall  set 
down  one  thing  about  her  which  I  pray  he  may 
take  well  to  heart.     He  ought  to  know  and  to 
remember  this;    that  his  life  was  the  price  of 
hers  ;  she  was  extinguished  that  he  might  shine, 
and  he  owes  it  to  her  that  the  Hame  of  his  torch 
be  as  white    as  the   altar's    from   which  it  was 
kindled. 

Perhaps  the  most  remarkable  thing,  then,  in 
the  character  of  his  mother  —  which,  please  God, 


I    ¥ 


ho  will  have,  or,  getting;  all  things  else,  he  can 
never  he  a  i^cntlcinan — was  honour.  It  shone 
from  her  countenance,  it  ran  like  melody  in  her 
voice,  it  made  her  eyes  the  most  beautiful  in 
expression  that  I  hnve  ever  seen,  it  enveloped 
her  person  and  demeanour  with  spiritual  jj;raee. 
Honour  in  what  are  called  the  little  things  of 
life,  honour  not  as  women  commonly  understand 
it,  hut  as  the  best  of  men  understand  it  —  that 
his  mother  had.  It  was  the  crystalline,  unshak- 
able rock  upon  which  the  somewhat  fragile  and 
never  to  be  completed  structure  of  her  life  was 
reared. 

If  he  be  anything  of  a  philosopher,  he  may 
rcLison  that  this  trait  must  have  made  his  mother 
to(^  serious  and  too  hard.  Let  him  think  again. 
It  was  the  very  core  of  soundness  in  her  that 
kept  her  gay  and  sweet.  I  have  often  likened 
her  mind  to  the  sky  in  its  power  of  changeable- 
ness  from  radiant  joyousness  to  sober  calm  ;  but 
oftenest  it  was  like  the  vault  of  April,  whose 
drops  quicken  what  they  fall  upon  ;  and  she  was 
of  a  soft-heartedness  that  ruled  her  absolutely 
—  but  only  to  the  unyielding  edge  of  honour. 
Yet  she  did  not  escape  this  charge  of  being  both 
hard  and  serious  upon  the  part  of  men  and 
women  who  were  used  to  the  laxness  of  small 

274 


niisdemeanoiirs,  and   felt  ill  at  ease  before  the 
terrifying  truth  that  she  was  a  lady. 

Beyond  this  sinj^le  trait  of  hers  — which,  if 
it  please  God  that  he  inherit  it,  may  he  keep 
though  he  lose  everything  else  -  I  set  nothing 
further  down  for  his  remembrance,  since  naught 
could  come  of  my  writing.  By  words  I  could  no 
more  give  him  an  idea  of  what  his  mother  was 
than  I  could  point  him  to  a  few  measures  of 
wheat  and  bid  him  behold  a  living  harvest. 


Upon  these  fields  of  cool  October  greenness 
there  rises  out  of  the  earth  a  low,  sturdy  weed. 
Upon  the  top  of  this  weed  small  white  blossoms 
open  as  still  as  stars  of  frost.  Upon  these  blos- 
.soms  lies  a  fragrance  so  pure  and  wholesome 
that  the  searching  sen.se  is  never  cloyed,  never 
satisfied.  Years  after  the  blo.ssoms  are  dried 
and  yellow  and  the  leaves  withered  and  gone, 
this  wholesome  fragrance  lasts.  The  common 
people,  who  often  put  their  hopes  into  their 
names,  call  it  life-everlasting.  Sometimes  they 
make  themselves  pillows  of  it  for  its  virtue  of 
bringing  a  quiet  sleep. 

This  plant  is  blooming  out  now,  and  nightly 
as  I  wend  homeward  I  pluck  a  handful  of  it, 
gathering   along  with  its  life  the  tranquil  sun- 

275 


»  '■' 


I 


I 


shine,  the  autumnal  notes  of  the  eardinal  passing 
to  better  lands,  and  all  the  healthful  influences 
of  th(^.  fields.  I  shall  make  me  a  tribute  of  it  to 
the  memory  of  her  undying  sweetness. 

If  God  wills,  when  I  fall  asleep  for  good  I 
shall  lay  my  head  beside  hers  on  the  bosom  of 
the  Life  Kverlastins 


'g- 


i 


hs' 


THE    END 


'» 


276 


ssing 

jnces 

it  to 

.od   I 
•m  of 


THEJ^FATEST    NOVEL    OF    THE   YEAR 

THE  REIGN  OF  LAW 

A  TALE   OF  THE   KENTUCKY    HEMF   FIELDS 

By  JAMES    LANE   ALLEN 

Author-  of  "The  Choir  Inviuble;'  "A  Kentucky  Lardnial,"  etc.,  etc. 

With  Ii.listkations  nv  HARKV  FF.XX  and  J.  C.  F.AKL 

i2ino.    Cloth.     Gilt  Top.    $1.50 


HAuIIITON'  \V.  Makik  writes  of  it; 

"  1  !i''  sion  lias  not  only  tlic  rNttaordinrirv  beauty  wliicli  gives  Mr.  Allm's 
work  a  jjlace  by  itself  in  our  litcr.iturc,  :t  lias  also  .<,'reat  spiritual  (icptii  and 
unusual  srasp  of  tl.ou-ht.  ...  It  is  primarily  th<- u,.rk  of  an  artist  to  whom 
the  dramatic  interest  IS  supreme,  .  .  .  the  story  of 'uo  liuman  souls  ;  a  story 
conceived  and  expressed  in  terms  of  the  deejust  exp-rience;  touciied 
throiij,'liout  with  that  exquisite  beauty  which  reminds  tiie  reader  of  Haw- 
thorne." —  The  Outlook. 

"A  great  book  —  great  alike  in  beauty  and  in  depth." 

—  New  York  Jtntcs'  Saturdnv  AVr.'/rwi. 

"Our  English  Cousins  have  said  that  no 'finer' woik  than  Mr.  Allen's 
has  betr  done  in  America  of  recent  years.  Hut  Mine'  is  an  -verw.rked 
adjective  and  gives  no  hint  of  the  absohitely  unique  charm  and  delicacy  of 
Mr.  Allen's  writing." —  7//^  Book  liuyo  lor  June. 

"  Over  and  above  the  story,  one  is  impressed  with  the  imi  ity,  the  lofty 
dignitv,  the  sweetness  of  its  ton-.  .  ,  .  The  book  will  rank  as  the  highest 
achievement  of  one  of  the  ablest  contemporary  American  novelists." 

—  Philadt'lpltia  h I'iOtd. 

"'  Tlie  Reign  of  Tnw  "  seems  to  strike  a  new  and  deeper  note,  and  seems 
by  the  dignity  of  its  treatment,  by  its  tense  drama,  tender  |)athos,  and  narrow 
approach  to  tragedy,  to  be  a  story  that  has  long  been  waiting  for  a  perfect 
artist  !o  interpret  it  in  the  iiue  way."—  '//■,■  indiaiiapolis  AV.e.f. 

"  'I'hat  it  will  take  i<s  i)!ace  as  one  of  the  notable  books  of  the  year  prac- 
tically goes  without  saying,  and  wherever  the  I'est  and  nobU-st  of  ICnglish 
speech  is  appreciated,  this  book  will  f^nd  a  XwAung."  —  Louisville  Junes. 


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'     I 


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iV 


THE  CHOIR  INVISIBLE 


HY 


JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

Cloth.      i2tno.     $1.50.     New  edition  with  illustra* 
tions  by  Orson  Lowell,  $2.50 


"One  reads  the  story  for  tlie  story's  sake,  and  tlien  re-riNnls  the 
book  out  of  pure  dclit;ht  lit  its  hcaiiiy.     The  story  is  Ainei  ican  to 

the  very  core Mr.  Allt-ii  stands  to-day  in  the  troni  tank  ot 

American  novehsls.  'The  'Jlmir  Invisible  '  wiil  solidity  a  reputation 
already  established  and  bring  into  clear  li<ilit  his  rare  <;itfs  as  an 
artist.  I'Vir  this  latest  stoiy  is  as  genuine  a  woik  of  ait  as  has  conie 
from  an  American  liand."—  Hamh.ion  Mahik  in  'J/u-  Outlook. 

"  The  humor  and  grace  .  .  we  have  had  in  our  fiction  ;  the  pu- 
rity of  lone  also.  .  .  .  But  the  imaginative  beauty  which  lies  dee[)  at 
the  root  of  things  .  .  .  this  is  a  rarer  grace;,  a  inoie  enduring  cjuality 
:>f  fine  literature.  .  .  .  This  i)eauty  has  lain  in  other  i)Ooks  l)y  Mr. 
Allen,  but  in  none,  we  think,  has  it  been  under  such  high  command 
as  in  this. " —  The  Atlanfic  Monthly. 

"  Highly  praised  and  witir  reason.  It  is  written  with  singular 
delicacy  and  has  an  old  world  fragrance  whicn  seems  to  come  from 
the  claEsics  we  keep  in  iaventier."  —  J-yom  the  Daily  Chronicle,  Lt)n- 
don. 

"  There  are  descriptive  passages  so  exquisitely  wrought  that  the 
reader  lingers  over  them  to  make  tliein  a  possession  forever;  there 
are  inner  experiences  so  intensely  realized  that  tin  y  become  a  part 
of  the  life  of  his  own  soul." —  The  Dial,  Chicago. 

"He  has  given  us  something  strong,  deep,  reverential,  that  will 
^each  us  how  10  live."  —  The  linokman. 


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SUMMER  IN  ARCADY 


A  TALE  OF  NATURE 


BV 


JAMES  LANE  ALLEN 

Author  0/  "A  Kentucky  Cardinal"  "  A/tsrmath,"  "  The  liiue  Crai, 
Region  0/  Kentucky  "  etc. 

i6mo.    Cloth.    $1.25 


"This  story  by  James  Lane  Allen  is  one  of  the  ^eiiis  of  the 
season.  It  is  artistic  in  its  seti.mp,  realistic  anci  true  to  nature 
and  life  in  its  descriptions,  dramatic,  pathetic,  traffic,  in  its  in- 
cidents; indeed,  a  veritable  gem  that  must  become  classic.  It 
is  difficult  to  give  an  outline  of  the  story;  it  is  one  of  the  stories 
which  do  not  outline;  it  must  be  read."  —  Boston  Daily  Adver- 
tiser, 

"The  close  communion  and  symi-athy  with  Nature,  and  the 
noble  interpretatiijn  of  her  wayward  moods  atid  changing 
phases,  manifested  in  'A  Kentucky  Cardinal '  and  'Aftermath' 
find  nobler,  sweeter,  ampler  expression  in  the  luminous,  sunlit, 
sun-flushed  pages  of  his  new  story," —  The  Bookman. 

"The  book  continually  gladdens  the  aesthetic  sense  with  its 
luxurious  and  chaste  objective  imagery.  It  shows  a  marked 
advance  in  the  author's  power  of  vivid  dialogue,  and  though 
the  nature  of  its  materials  will  prevent  its  being  called  the  most 
beautiful  of  his  .stories,  it  is  vet  likely  to  attain  the  widest  cir- 
culation and  to  be  a  stepping-stone  to  higher  thing;*." —  Tfie 
Chicago  Ttibune. 


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■} 


NEW   EDITIONS 

The  Blue  Grass  Region  of   Kentucky 

l^y    [\MKS    I.ANK    Am. IN 
Cloth,   i2ino.     Illustrated.     Si  50 

"  '  Tlic  siinple.  nn-il  Ucy-natp  of  I'fe  is  still  the  sweetpst,'  he  had  written 
in  ttie  opiMiinj  jiiico  (it  ' 'llie  i'liie  (Ir.iss  kc};ion  of  Keiiluiky';  mu!  it  is 
tills  note  wliii  (1,  |il  ivLil  nil  ihc  pipes  of  I'aii  in  cvci  roiurrin.t;  anil  fresh 
viiiiMtioiis,  vicMs  tl'e  sweetest  tnusK  ,  imd.  tcmclieil  witli  the  hre;ith  ol  his 
p.ts-ioii  1(11-  M.iiinc,  is  truisnii;le(l  into  those  '  nivisiMe  f.owcrs  of  sound 
wliic:h  lie  (iicsbed  Ijelwetn  liis  p.i^;t:s." —  J  /if  liockiiinn. 

Flute  and  Violin, 
and  other  Kentucky  Tales  and  Romances 

liy  Jami.s   I.ANK   A!  I, I.N 
('li>t!i,   121110.     llit'.straleil.     ?i.50 

"  He  takes  us  int(.  a  freen  and  frasra:it  world  in  that  Kentucky  home  ol 
hi-,  which  h'j  has  shared  with  us  so  Renialiy  ana  delightfully  hefore  now.  No 
one  has  made  more  of  a  native  rej;ion  than  he  —  more  beauty  and  more 
attr.icliveness  He  lias  done  for  the  l,lne  j;rass  country  what  Miss  Wilkiiis 
has  done  for  .New  lai.i;land.  what  Hainhn  (jarland  has  done  for  some  parts 
of  the  Wcst."  —  Boston  Tyaiiscri/it. 

A  Kentucky  Cardinal 

i\\  Jamks   I..\NK   Al.l.KN 
f'loih,  l2mo.     Illustrate'!,     isl.oo 

"  A  narrative,  told  with  n.aive  simplicity  in  the  fust  person,  of  how  a  rnar 
who  was  dtvoted  to  his  fruits  and  flowers  and  birds  came  to  fall  in  love  with 
a  fair  neiulibor  who  irea'ed  him  at  tirst  with  whin'sical  raillery  and  coquetry, 
and  who  finally  put  his  love  to  the  supreme  test."  -  iV.  Y.  Tribune, 

Aftermath 

A  Se(|ucl  to  "A  Kentucky  Cardinal" 

V>y  Jamks  Lane  Ai.i.kn 

C;ioth,  I2mc.     IlUntratcd.     $1.00 

''  The  perfect  sim;di(iiy  of  all  the  episodes,  the  gentleness  of  spirit,  and 
the  old-time  courtesy,  tlie  poetry  of  11  i.ll,  with  a  gleam  of  humor  on  almost 
^very  page  "  —  /.//>. 

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